


Freedom

by VoltageInside



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Childhood Trauma, Frottage, Gray Morality, Healing, Here we go, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Moral Ambiguity, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, PTSD, Pokemon Battle, Praise Kink, Recovery, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sloooooow Burn, Slow Burn, Trauma, Trauma is not fixed overnight, abuser confrontation, adoration, child abuse mention, cracks knuckles, love and support, recovery and healing from childhood trauma, uh i guess thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-03 19:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 32,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8726599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoltageInside/pseuds/VoltageInside
Summary: Escape doesn't necessarily mean freedom.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not gonna sit here and lie to you. this is a self-insert/oc fic. 
> 
> please just give it a chance i worked hard as hell on this lmao
> 
> not even beta read we're just gonna do this gung ho let's go kids

Coming to Alola had been his dream for as long as he could remember. The culture, the people, the warmth, the  _ escape,  _ it all called to him like a Lycanroc to a full moon. He wasn’t built for the cold weather of Johto. He stepped off the ferry, stretching. God, he had awful seasickness, and being on land again was a blessing. He scratched his neck, reaching for the luxury balls on his hip. 

 

“C’mon, you lazy bastards. Don’t you want out?” One of the balls shook, but the other was still, and slightly cool, as if the inhabitant were sleeping. He clipped that one back onto his belt, shrugging. “Alright, message received. C’mon, J,” he said, pressing the release button on the ball. A flash of red morphed into a slightly-larger-than-normal Jolteon, who shook out its pointed fur and stretching. It looked up at him expectantly, with huge purple eyes.

 

“I know, I’m sorry. It was a long ride. I was sick as hell. It was better in the ball.” It butted its head against his shin, and he leaned against the railing of the dock, sighing heavily to release the city air built in his lungs, inhaling the freedom around him. Escaping to Alola had literally been an escape - his parents had fought and argued with him for days until he just packed and left. His phone was still off; he’d face the millions of voicemails later. They had to cut the cord eventually, and at twenty-two, it was practically a noose. 

 

Jolteon padded ahead of him, sniffing about here and there. First things first, he’d need to get the  _ hell out  _ of these hot ass clothes. Johto’s winter was a whole different ballgame to Alola’s hot summer. He already felt sweat sticking his hoodie to his back, though he never did mind sweat, he didn’t want to look like a tourist, now that he lived here.

 

In the nearest city - and he hesitated to call it that, it wasn’t nearly as big as the Johto cities, much to his pleasure - there was a small shop with a t-shirt printed on its sign. He pressed the door open, setting off a little bell’s jingle. The door nearly shut on Jolteon, as it stood under the cool blast of air conditioning with a weird look of contentment on its face. 

 

“You’ll get used to the heat too, buddy,” he commented, already looking through shelves of tank tops and cargo shorts. He eventually settled on a black tank top and black athletic shorts - he was never one for jeans or the heavy stitching of cargos. He liked to feel loose, free. He didn’t want to think about the implications to his personality. He didn’t think it was that deep, really. 

 

Dressing in all black may have dampened some others, but the gentle absorption of sunlight on his clothes and radiating into his skin was more comforting than he liked to admit. Like a reassurance that he was  _ actually  _ in Alola,  _ actually  _ living there. 

 

He finally checked into his hotel room long after the sun had set, dropping his gym bag on the bed, glancing over to the suitcase already brought over by the ferryman’s employees. He was glad he spent the extra money on the higher-end company for just that reason. He reached a hand over to his left side, popping the luxury ball off its clip.

 

“Shrew,” he called, pressing the button. Nothing happened. He groaned. “Let’s go, we’re at the room already. You can sleep outside the ball.” Suddenly, the ball burst open, and a sleepy looking Sandshrew materialized at his feet. Jolteon touched its nose to the Ground-type’s, a friendly greeting and a curious check on the state of affairs. Meanwhile, the man kicked his shoes off, collapsing on the bed, barely able to pull the covers over himself before the two pokemon curled up on either side of his body.

  
  


Waking up was almost an out of body experience. It took him a while to remember where he was, why he was there. Sandshrew was already awake, sunning itself in the window. Jolteon was curled under his arm, spooning-style, as always. He roused the two, pulling on his shoes. They’d be moving into a house soon, but his first week would be spent in the hotel, getting to know the area. 

 

They walked to the town again, though this time stopping into each area. He greeted people quietly; he still felt out of place, and didn’t want to offend anyone with strange mannerisms. He stuck to the customary Alola, yes or no to questions or offers to give him information. He learned the general area’s customs, about the guardian deity, Tapu Koko, and its shrine, the Kahuna and the researcher, and where to find them. They told him about the island trials, but he shrugged it off. He was thankful to be here at this age; no one questioned if he had badges, and no one expected him to take the challenge. He was free to just… be himself. 

 

He left the malasadas shop, bag in hand, still wandering. They happened upon a beach, where he found a spot closer to the water, removing his shoes and socks to let the water splash over them. Sandshrew damn near buried itself in the hot sand, crooning its contentment in the ground and hot sun combination. He handed it one of the fried doughs, watched as it nibbled contentedly. Jolteon, on the other hand, ate its fairly quickly, before playing around in the water at his feet. It was just the calm quiet he needed, the peace to settle the wounds from Johto clinging to his body.

 

It took a few days, but he finally started work. Really, he just got to do what he always did on the nearby Route 5; protect the pokemon, make sure travellers weren’t lost - it was a tricky area that many visitors got lost or wounded in - and otherwise patrolling the environment. Especially the Lush Jungle; he’d been warned to watch out for “suspicious characters.” He didn’t really listen, in the end. He knew what to watch for, what was a threat to the pokemon and what wasn’t. It was pretty quiet; trainers had battled him at first, but after a serious beat down and harsh glare, they learned to leave him be to work. He settled into a routine, as he had in Johto, but here he was happy, he was free.

 

It took nearly a month in the region to finally meet  _ him _ .

 

He had to stop and listen to pinpoint the sound. It was laughter, children’s laughter, which wasn’t uncommon, but also the strange skitters and chirps of a Pokemon. He didn’t recognize it right off the bat, so he decided to investigate just to be sure. He slid into the shadows of the trees, creeping closer until he could see the pond.

 

Children were laughing, circled around the water. They were throwing rocks at a Surskit, who was skating around the pond furiously, trying to escape. The air was sweet, probably coming from the top of its head, if he recalled correctly, but anytime it got close to a child they’d throw another rock or a handful of dirt. He didn’t give them a chance, he stormed out, Jolteon already forming out of its ball. 

 

“Leave,” he growled, pointing to the entrance. 

 

“No way, we don’t listen to old people,” one shouted. The others agreed. Surely it was just children testing their bounds, toeing the line. He, however, didn’t have lines. He had walls. 

 

“J, Thunder shock,” he snapped. The pokemon leapt forth, electricity charging through its fur, zapping through the children. It was a weak jolt, but it certainly wasn’t a kind one they’d forget. The sounds of crying as they ran off rolled off him like water when he looked at the Surskit, panting and bruised.

 

A ball appeared out of nowhere, and the poor thing didn’t have the energy to even shake it; the ball let off a proud ‘ding,’ floating on the water gently. The ranger snapped his head around, his body whirling like a storm. 

 

“Easy, chill. I’m cool with anyone who will protect my precious Bug pokemon. I’m gonna get this guy healed up, don’t you worry about it.”

 

He felt the anger falling away, taking in the sight of the slouched figure. He was tall, was the first thing the ranger realized. He took in the tattoos, the chain, the overall color scheme. He looked like he had something to prove, like a status symbol to show off. Overall, not unpleasant, but unique. The ranger only felt curiosity. He turned, kneeling down to grasp the ball gently before standing, walking closer to the man, though not close enough yet. The tatted man realized this and seemed to relax, like a layer had fallen away. 

 

“Hey, don’t worry, yo. I’ll take care of it, okay? What’s your name, anyways?”

 

The ranger scowled for a moment, still deciding on whether or not to really trust this guy who took advantage of a pokemon’s weakened state. But, in the end, was it really different from a battle?

 

He decided yes, it was; at least that had dignity instead of spiteful bullying. 

 

“Yours?” He responded instead. The man laughed, throwing his head back. 

 

“Well, you’re looking at the hardest man around, your boy Guzma here !” 

 

Guzma. He tasted the name aloud, and the man nodded, running a thumb over the new pokeball in his hands. 

 

“Yep. That’s it. Usually now you’d give  _ your  _ name, right?” A goad, but it didn’t even dent his armor.

 

“Ace.”

 

Guzma regarded him for a minute before cracking a grin. “Well, Ace, we’ll see what the Alolan winds bring, huh? Maybe we’ll see each other again.” To him, it sounded more like an offer.

 

“Bet we will,” he replied flatly, which just earned another laugh. Ace finally handed the pokeball over. The man left, leaving Ace alone to pick up Jolteon and hold him tight as he watched the man go.

 

He didn’t see him for a while after that. He asked a few people about him, though most seemed to regard him with distaste or disgust. The stories he heard, he could believe them, really. Guzma had been generally nice to him, but that didn’t mean he was a good guy or anything. But Ace was never one to judge based on rumors; he’d had a few crazy rumors himself, considering he spent all his time in the woods alone. Some people just couldn’t accept that he was better suited helping pokemon there than fighting gym battles. 

 

It wasn’t until Ace was forced to take a day off that he saw him again. He was on the beach, in fact, with a single, tiny bug pokemon out on the sand. Against him were two men dressed in all white, with Pokemon that looked far stronger than the simple bug in front of them. 

 

Guzma looked annoyed, or angry, or worried; he couldn’t read the dude yet but he didn’t look happy. It was around then that he looked up and they locked eyes. 

 

“Yo, a little help here?” He called. Usually not one to interfere, but the battle certainly wasn’t fair, and he hadn’t had a battle in a while. He wasn’t a huge fan, but he certainly wasn’t abstinent; a good battle was good for his boys. This time he released Sandshrew, who was far too eager to come out and play. 

 

“Wimpod, just a little more- use Struggle Bug!” Guzma called to the tiny bug, who was already struggling, if you asked Ace. 

 

“Shrew, dig.” 

 

It took a few attacks, but Sandshrew managed to defend the poor bug and take out the two offenders with overall ease. Angered, the men recalled their fainted pokemon.

 

“We’ll be back to take you out, Guzma. And you-” The one on the left turned to Ace, who was already looking away to the water, as if more interesting. “We won’t forget this.” They left, to heal, and Guzma turned to him. Ace regarded him patiently. 

 

“Thanks, man. I hate an unfair fight, you know? Bullying Wimpod like that, burns me up.” He did look angry, for what it was worth. He looked down at Sandshrew, who was sniffing at the poor Wimpod, who barely had the strength to resist. 

 

“Let’s get to the Pokemon Center, yeah?” He asked, but Guzma seemed a little apprehensive. Ace reconsidered when the man seemed to shrivel into himself, just a degree. That’s where the other guys were, anyway. So instead, he pulled out a potion, spraying it onto its wounds. It seemed to relax more, into the sand as the painkiller kicked in, starting to mend its broken body. Sandshrew sat beside it, taking in the warm sand and looking pleased after its hard won battle. Ace looked to Guzma, and a weird feeling of empathy washed over him.

 

“...Wait here.” The man started to protest, but Ace was already walking. “Shrew, don’t let him try anything stupid,” he called back over his shoulder. 

 

Safe to say, Ace was actually surprised to find Guzma still crouched in the sand over his Wimpod, offering his hand to Sandshrew to smell. Occasionally he got a pet or two in, but Sandshrew was still standoffish on orders of its owner. 

 

“Come here,” the ranger called, and Guzma looked up at him, raising a brow. He nodded to the nearby dock, and walked out to sit on the edge, letting his feet dangle. The tattooed man hesitated, but eventually sat next to him, cradling Wimpod in his arms. It was finally sleeping, the potion working. “You can put him in his ball now,” he encouraged, and it seemed to startle him. He grabbed his pokeball, looking at it before recalling the Bug Pokemon and stuffing it back into his pocket. Ace opened the bag he had gone to retrieve, pulling out a to-go bowl of hot noodles. He handed one to Guzma wordlessly, along with a fork, and pulled out his own, with disposable chopsticks. He cracked the lid off, offering a piece of meat to Sandshrew anytime he came across one before slurping some up. He felt Guzma watching him, felt the eyes on his face. He watched the waves roll along the water, the moon starting to reflect off the surface. “It’s not poisoned, you know.”

 

He saw the smile out of the corner of his eye, but eventually he heard the slurp of noodles. They ate in silence for a few minutes, just - well, Ace didn’t want to say ‘enjoying their company,’ as they were total strangers and it was with a possible criminal, but - taking in the calmness of having not unpleasant company. “...Don’t take this the wrong way, but thanks.”

 

Ace actually laughed at that one, and Guzma visibly relaxed beside him. “Never seen ya even smile before. Good to know you can,” he taunted. Ace shrugged. “Anyway, for the food and the help.” Silence fell for a beat. Then: “Surskit is still okay. She hasn’t battled yet, I’m tryin’ ta let her heal a bit longer.”

 

“Good. I’m glad you’re treating her well.” 

 

“Yeah, well.” Guzma shrugged, slurping more noodles. “You’re pretty strong. Where are you from?” Ace eyed him. He tried not to make it obvious he was from another region. Where had he gone wrong? Sighing, Guzma rolled his eyes. “The chopsticks? Not to mention, it’s a pretty small island, I’d know a trainer like you.”

 

“I’m not a trainer,” Ace replied softly. Guzma’s critical look made him avoid, turn his head away, to Sandshrew, who looked up at him adoringly. “It doesn’t matter, but I’m from Johto. Never did the gym nonsense. These guys are my partners, I don’t train them, we just work together.”

 

“Bullshit,” the man spat, and the ranger cocked his head at him. “They’re too strong not to train. And they listen to you.”

 

“Partners,” he reiterated, downing the last of the broth in his bowl and shoving it into the bag. 

 

“Tch. Whatever,” Guzma shook his head, taking another forkful of noodles, having lagged behind when listening. Ace considered him for a moment.

 

“So what do you do?” Would he own up to the rumors? Apparently, yes, according to the smirk on his face as he gulped down the last of the soup and tossing it into the bag.

 

“You’re lookin’ at the human form of destruction, the boss of the hardest gang around, Team Skull!” The introduction was flashy, in Ace’s opinion. It made him smile. Apparently, it didn’t thrill Guzma. “Wipe that smirk off your face, or we’ll crush it for you.”

 

“No, no. I just.” Just what? Just nothing, Ace. He scratched under Sandshrew’s chin, whose eyes were drooping. He recalled him into his ball, clipping him to his belt. Just him and Guzma, now. The world felt smaller. “I’ve heard about you guys.” This sent a flash of pride through the other man’s face. “You, and… Ploom…. Ah, …?” He couldn’t recall.

 

“Plumeria,” Guzma offered. “They call her their Big Sis.” His smile was genuine, and Ace watched him. 

 

“And a bunch of grunts.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Ace nodded at his affirmation. He knew what they did from the rumor mill, but hell, it sounded like they were more nuisances than actual danger. After being around their boss like this, he saw why. Though, this didn’t seem like the norm.

 

“You know, you’re pretty strong.” He didn’t like the way the man kept repeating that. “There’s definitely room in the team for you,” Guzma offered. Ace considered his shoes, neither looking at each other. 

 

“I got a job to do. Gotta protect the shrine from vandals,” he said. Guzma chuckled, wringing his hands. The team boss finally stood, placing a hand on the ranger’s shoulder. 

 

“Door’s always open,” he said, leaving without waiting for a response.

  
That night, Ace dreamt of dark forests and white hair. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An offer he can't refuse.

  
  


He would see Guzma occasionally, though they rarely got a moment to interact. He saw him once with a proud looking woman, flowing in pink and yellow braids. He wasn’t in his usual getup, maybe some undercover nonsense to make themselves feel cooler. Another time he saw him sneaking into an alley with a couple of punk looking younger adults and teens, probably to cause trouble. Ace had looked the other way both times. Sometimes they bumped into one another in passing on the Routes; it felt weird, knowing this dude was  _ some  _ type of criminal and yet just roamed the islands freely. Maybe he didn’t really do all that stuff, or people didn’t care, because it wasn’t like they didn’t know it was Skull, with Guzma at the… skull. He’d hit himself for that stupid pun later. 

 

A few times he’d run into his little grunts, too. They were charmingly cute, trying to act harder than they were, or dropping rhymes, squatting all the time everywhere they went. He’d battled one or two that had challenged him, but generally they let him be, and didn’t bother with the forest. It may be because it was dangerous as  _ shit, _ but he was certain he’d locked eyes with a Grunt once and a flash of  _ something  _ in his face had sent him back out the way he came. Hm.

 

He didn’t miss him, really. But Ace worked so much that making friends had been difficult. He had acquaintances at the nearby farm, but generally they were all too busy to make a meaningful friendship out of it. At least when he ran into Guzma, there was no hostility; maybe a little boastfulness, or cunning slyness, but never a direct attack. He wouldn’t admit to looking forward to their run-ins.

 

Ace always got home later at night. He switched his hours around so he’d stay later some days or sleep in others, so people wouldn’t predict his schedule and come when he was at home. At least by switching it up, he could minimize the predictability. Walking home he would pass a house, and it always left a burning sourness in his throat. A growlithe stood chained to a tree, day in, day out. The owners of the house never seemed to come out, only occasionally dropping food or water nearby, though sometimes even out of reach. Nothing burned the ranger up more than abuse or neglect of a Pokemon. It was why he did what he did - to protect them. 

 

Tonight as he walked, he had to pause in the road. The man in the house was yelling incoherently, and the growlithe barked back at him. Eventually the breaking of glass and a yelp of pain sent him running. The door slammed shut, but the Growlithe stood chained, pulled taut as it tried to get as far away from the offending bottle as possible. Ace silently called for Sandshrew, and offered a hand to the Growlithe. It snarled and snapped, terrified and confused, still trying to protect its territory. Sandshrew bit down hard on the metal, severing it from the tree. He grabbed the chain, and the growlithe lunged again. Cursing, he apologized softly, before setting Sandshrew on him in a tackle to weaken him further than he already was. Ace tossed a ball at him, and it wriggled for a long while, before finally settling. Snatching the ball, he sprinted off home. 

 

He took a few days off work to take care of it. After healing, the Growlithe was still extraordinarily wary of its new Trainer, trying to overwrite its old trainer, no matter how bad, was still tough on such a loyal pokemon. But Ace was patient. And after food, and watching Jolteon and Sandshrew so eagerly vie for his attention, Growlithe slowly permitted itself to be petted, allowed itself curiosity over its new person. 

 

He went back to the woods, finally, and was sitting under a tree when a looming shadow blocked his view. Cracking an eye, he was met with the tall figure of Guzma. 

“So? How is he?”

 

Ace eyed him suspiciously. “Who?”

 

Guzma scoffed. “C’mon. Don’t play stupid. I saw the whole thing. For what it’s worth, the dude didn’t deserve him anyway.” 

 

Ace decided against asking him  _ how  _ he saw, and instead caught himself reflexively reaching to cover the ball with his hand. Drawing his hand back into his lap, he sat up off the trunk of the tree, looking at his feet. No sense in lying. “I’ve been trying not to go back there and beat  _ him  _ with a bottle,” he grumbled quietly. Guzma cackled, tossing his head back like he did. ‘Like he did,’ as if Ace knew this guy well enough already to know his mannerisms. 

 

“Listen, I wanna talk serious now. I want you on my team.” Guzma crossed his arms, the skulls on his forearms touching. Ace looked at them for a moment longer before meeting his eyes.

“What’s in it for me?” He had no loyalties here, after all. He didn’t want money. 

 

“A guarantee.”

“Of what?”

 

“A difference.”

 

Ace had considered it for days after. To be a grunt, until Guzma was shown he was ready for more. The ranger already made a difference, but the offer was more than that. Help, when he needed it. A place to bring the Pokemon. And, though Ace hated to admit this was a factor, connection. Team Skull was larger than expected, if you knew what signs to look for on a person. And he’d have friends in many places. Or friends in general. And he could keep working as a ranger, though if he wanted he could travel further.

 

It was a tempting offer. Eventually, he found Guzma late at night, standing at the same docks they’d sat at weeks ago. “I’ll help you.”

 

Guzma had laughed at that. “ _ You’ll  _ help  _ me?  _ I think you’ve got it twisted.”

 

“Who asked who?” He challenged, and the boss laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “I don’t want to be just some grunt, either.”

 

“You never were,” Guzma replied. He’d shelved that, would come back to that later, alone in the night.

 

He took him to Po Town and introduced him to the Grunts as an Enforcer. Handed him a phone with two phone numbers, though he said the Grunts could reach him. Ace inspected the graffiti, the mess. They really were just a gang of rowdy kids, no matter their actual age. But organized, he could see them doing some damage. He followed Guzma closely through the mansion, to the room that was clearly his. A crate of green crystals, a purple throne, a bed to the side. He said something, but the ranger wasn’t listening, inspecting the rows of bottles. 

 

Meeting Plumeria had been weird; he got the vibe she didn’t like him, but there was an air of respect for one another. Maybe she just didn’t trust strangers; likewise. He bowed out of her room quickly, forcing Guzma to follow after. He showed him a room, claiming it would be his, but Ace informed him of his own home.

 

“Think of it as your private getaway. Your home away from rental.” Free rent did sound nice. He accepted the key to his personal, locked room, and watched Guzma go, the room stiflingly empty. He let out Growlithe, who spent the next few hours tolerating being petted, as they both got accustomed to the room, the idea.

 

He took a few days off again to hang around Po Town and meet the Grunts. They acted hard, but overall they were kind, friendly to him even. Most, he grew to learn over time, came from bad situations or awful families and needed an escape, a new family, a structure to support them. Ace wondered exactly how different he really was from them. He slowly grew to know names under the masks, how they walked or talked or stood, who rhymed and who didn’t. The silver chain around his neck felt foreign, but not unwelcome. It was heavy, he didn’t wear necklaces. But even when it was tucked out of sight while he was out in the town, he felt… different. Wilder. Safer. He didn’t know. 

 

Being in a house full of wannabe criminals and punks should have left him feeling more concerned. But Ace found himself spending less days in the Jungle lately, opting to hang out in Guzma’s room as he dealt with reports from Grunts, sending them off with orders, discussing with Plumeria their next goal. Occasionally, he would look to the ranger, who would give his two cents, or settle a problem for them. He couldn’t ignore the expression on the boss’s face; smug, curious, calculating, thoughtful. 

 

Growlithe strode beside him, now, as he padded barefoot through the Jungle. It had warmed up to him considerably, and even slept in the bed with the other two now. It rarely strayed from his side, though it had monumental trust issues in other humans. He was working on that. Right now they were on their own little side mission for Skull, to “collect” the pokemon of a man who treated them too wrongly for his tastes. He wasn’t sure how he got to this point, really. He was, in simplest terms, a thief. He stole pokemon. Granted, it was more like rescue - he only took from the abusive and neglectful - but it was still taking someone’s pokemon away. He wished that he felt guilt, or worry, or anxiety. But he just felt free. 

 

It was too easy to take them. The man was completely paralyzed by Jolteon’s shock, and the pokemon were weak and cramped in too-small cages, too exhausted and malnourished to fight the pokeball. He was not kind in his punishment, and left the man to his own fate. Help would come, the paralysis would wear off. Scars would form. Right now, he trekked back to Po Town, keeping more undercover as he had been for weeks. 

 

Was he a bad guy? Ace held Sandshrew in his arms, who wanted to be close but didn’t want to go in the ball. He did it for the Pokemon. He never took the happy ones. But he was rogue, punishing the humans for their errors. And by whose standards but his own? Did that make him a villain? A bad man? He ran a very soft hand down sandshrew’s face, who dozed in the warmth of the sun and his owner, and concluded that whether he was good or bad, or maybe gray, it wasn’t his decision to make. 

 

Reporting to Guzma never felt like reporting, especially nowadays. It felt like talking to a friend. Their rooms were side-by-side, but Ace spent most of his Skull-allotted time in Guzma’s “chamber” anyway. Now, as he droned through the report, offering him the newly-healed Pokemon in their pokeballs, he studied the silvery white of his eyes, the way he would look away instead of holding eye contact after too long. Watched the way he’d scuff his shoe into the ground, or lean a little closer when Ace talked. A strange feeling balled itself into his gut, and he stepped away, going instead to lounge on Guzma’s bed as a Grunt came in to ask something or other. He ignored the way the familiar scent settled in his lungs like an easy coat of dust in one of the rooms of this “mansion.”

 

“I want you to be an admin.”

It came out of nowhere, one day. Ace was brushing Jolteon’s fur out, the spikes already beginning to shine. He looked up at Guzma, who was sitting on his throne and looking back at him. He put the comb away, scruffing Jolteon’s face idly, who leaned into it. 

 

“What brought that up?” Ace wasn’t sure how to respond otherwise, but being an enforcer had just been… adequate. He got to hang with everyone, did his own rogue-like missions and kept his job at the Jungle.

 

“You’re strong. You listen. You’re good with the grunts, and you don’t piss me off.” Ace smiled at the half-compliment. “You’ll have a say in our moves, you can help me scout out new recruits…” He seemed to be mentally going through a checklist, as if trying to convince him. 

 

“Easy, G. I’ll do it.” The boss relaxed visibly. 

 

“Oh. Cool, cool.” That was it. The ranger decided to move permanently into the house, though he did work the Jungle still a few times a week. It wasn’t like anyone checked up on him, really. They sent him his check, and only contacted him when something fishy was going on. Now, he really had a reason to cover their tracks, and could silence reports with an actual reason. Before, he’d just been an enforcer, a “for-hire”, but now he had a reason. Though, looking back, Ace wasn’t sure when it stopped being a favor to the team and started being his responsibility. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reminder; advice he can't quite take, himself.

 

His wardrobe change felt underwhelming. He still kept the all-black, though now he more openly wore his pendant. He adopted the standard grunt kerchief around his bicep, so he could hide his face when needed or use it as an emergency bandage for pokemon. Otherwise, looking in the mirror that morning felt… the same. He couldn’t decide if he liked it or not. 

 

He adjusted the kerchief a bit, tightening the knot so it wouldn’t slip, and exited his bedroom. Guzma wasn’t in his room, but a Grunt waved at him.

 

“Yo, bro. Our boy is out spreading the word ‘bout your promotion.” Ace ducked his head at that, willing down the flush of heat trying to color his cheeks. It didn’t really feel like a promotion, but to the Skulls, the hierarchy gap between Enforcers and Admins was astronomical. “Lowkey though, I’m glad it’s you, you’re good in my books.” The ranger thanked him, bowing his head subtly. He left the mansion to go find the boss.

 

He stumbled upon him in front of one of the houses, a small crowd gathered around him.  _ ‘He’s talking about me, _ ’ Ace realized. It made him shift uncomfortably. He focused instead on his new boss, the way he lit up so animatedly as he recounted times they’d fought battles together, or how he was ‘hard enough to go alone where y’all would go together,’ and how he was excited to see what he could do. The ranger admired him, from the hidden spot he’d camped, how different he was up close compared to when he was addressing a horde of his followers. The slouch was less noticeable, he realized. He glowed with enthusiasm to have someone listening to him, to respect him, pay attention to him. It left Ace with an odd aftertaste of pride, nervousness, and concern. 

 

They called to celebrate that night. Getting a new admin wasn’t an everyday event, so they wanted to use it as a reason to party. Ace had to admit, local police would be thrilled to have a night of no Skull troubles, all of them contained in one place. He was happy to oblige. They procured copious amounts of alcohol, clinking bottles and music filling the night’s atmosphere. Outside the mansion, a crowd had formed as grunts danced or showed off their rhymes. Ace was just enjoying himself, talking to the grunts around him, watching the performers show off their skills. It wasn’t until Plumeria came over that the ruckus started. She was standing beside him, talking idly. She’d warmed up to him considerably, to the point where she made him think of Growlithe. It was a thought that made him smile. It was all broken up by a few of the grunts, who called for attention. They mentioned when Plumeria was named Admin, she had taken the stage and rapped for them, rhymes flowing and steadily on beat. They called for Ace, demanding he keep the tradition going.

 

At first, he panicked. Nah, he couldn’t sing. Or rap. Or rhyme. But he  _ could  _ dance. He’d been watching them do it all night, so he should be able to provide that instead of a beat, right? He voiced this to the grunts, who quickly cheered their approval. Relief replaced only part of the terror he’d felt before; if he screwed this up, they’re probably shun him.

Or not, there was no way to be sure.

 

He made his way to their makeshift stage, catching Plumeria’s eye briefly. She looked amused, though not venomously so. He rolled his eyes at her, looking over to the speakers, where a grunt was scrolling through songs. The one at his side pointed, and the beat started.

 

Ace recognized this song. Upbeat, catchy, no rap. Something he could  _ definitely  _ dance to. He’d thank them later for not throwing him under the bus somehow. Maybe a big bag of malasadas. Grunts were  _ always _ hungry. The ranger - no, he was doing this as a Team Skull Admin - spread his feet to shoulder width, breathing out any stress he had. The song was catchy, fast paced, yet sensual. He knew this song, which took away the worries that he wouldn’t know what came next. His body moved before his brain, his movements sharp, crisp, but with a languidity to them that only further fit the flow of the song. The weight of the pendant around his neck only fueled his desire to perform, to prove himself, that he could fit in with this group of people watching him so intently, some cheering as he rocked his hips, hands framing on the hipbones. He looked at the crowd as a whole, only occasionally making eye contact with a grunt to further drive the line the singer was crooning at the time. 

 

He wasn’t sure why he looked past them, but eventually his eyes landed on a figure further back, as if hiding, leaning against the truck parked in the road. His eyes narrowed as he registered Guzma’s hunched form, arms crossed over his chest and a leg propped against the door. He had a weird expression on his face, either a pleased smirk or scowling grimace. He was a little too far, a little too shaded in the dark for him to tell. Either way, he’d give his boss a good show, spinning on his heel, making exaggerated, sharp hits with his arms, holding himself as he leaned back, his neck rolling his head back, the crowd hollering. He twisted, rolling his body upright. He kept his eyes on Guzma, feeling confidence welling in his chest. Ace wasn’t smiling for this performance, as the singer cried about pining, unrequited love; he kept his expression serious, if not longing. Finally, the song was over, and he gave a slight bow to the cheering Grunts. He stepped out of the mini stage they’d created, walking first to Plumeria who motioned him back, accepting pats on his back and arms as grunts tried to show their respect. She patted him on the shoulder, grinning that grin of hers, saying something he didn’t quite hear, nodded anyway. He glanced behind her, to the empty truck. Hm.

 

He was already tired, but whenever he tried to make his escape, grunts would drag him back to talk or watch this or do that, and even Plumeria insists he stay to talk. He even battles a few Grunts, but after a few too many consecutive battles, he refused anymore before his poor Pokemon would collapse with exhaustion. It took hours for the grunts to completely tire and let him go. He snuck away finally, dodging his way through the shadows until he made it to the top of the mansion. He’s beelining for his room when he spots someone alone on the roof. As he approached, he could just make out the finer details that made him Guzma. His new boss. Though, if the ranger was honest, he felt less like a boss and more like - well, he didn’t want to say friend, since they really didn’t know much about each other. Sure, they hung out a lot and talked business, but he didn’t really  _ know  _ the guy. Not really, anyway. But, he reconsidered, thinking maybe sometimes you didn’t need to pry to be friends.

 

On that mentality, he leaned in the open window, thankful it was tall enough that he could get through by ducking instead of crawling through it. He took in the sight; the way Guzma was sitting on the edge of the roof, like he could simply fall off at any time. His hunch, like he had to take up less space than he did. The way the moon, so full and bright, reflected off the silvery-white of his hair. The Skull emblem staring back at Ace from his back, as if challenging him to come closer, or maybe to prove himself. He’d always have to prove himself. To someone. To himself.

 

Ace finally stepped through the window, hovering for a second over his boss, who said nothing, just watching the Grunts below mingle and hang, much less rowdy and much more happily tired together. After a few heartbeats, he edged closer, finally lowering himself to sit beside Guzma. As their history, they fell into a comfortable silence, just taking in the comfort of a companion. Sometimes, it was what they needed. 

 

He felt it, felt Guzma draw in a breath, before he even opened his mouth to speak. Ace eyed him out of the corner of his eye, and watched the words die in his throat. Instead, he leaned forward even more. The ranger felt the absence of heat first; instead of the sudden realization, it was more like a hazy mist, settling onto his skin, into his bones, that they were hip to hip, leg against leg, and had been shoulder to shoulder before he moved. It was… intimate. He tried not to dwell on it. Guzma seemed to gain his confidence again, and spoke.

 

“I’m glad you’re here. You’re strong.” 

 

Ace felt something weird rise in his throat. A bitter taste on his tongue. “You’ve said that before,” he remarks, letting only a small amount of that bitterness to seep into his words. Guzma shakes his head subtly, as if rethinking. 

 

“You’re gonna be good for them,” Guzma replies, looking down at the Grunts. They were starting to head to the small homes scattering the town. 

 

“You think?” Ace replied, his lip curling distastefully. The boss didn’t respond, so he sighed. A long pause, almost tense between them, until he finally sighed again. “I’m barely good for myself,” he nearly breathed. 

 

The skull boss nodded, not laughing as he had expected him to. “Me, either. But they need me. Need you. Uh, need us.”

 

“They love you, you know,” he commented, brushing a stray piece of blonde away from his eyes. He needed a haircut soon. Maybe he’d chop it all off, get a nice clean cut. He ran a hand fully through his hair, feeling the length of the thin strands. 

 

A snort. Then, a drooping of his head as he replied: “I can do better, though. I have to be better. I have to do more for them. I can’t become like… I can’t get worse, you know?” Ace didn’t respond, instead letting him just get it out. “I try, ya know? I really do. But sometimes I lose my temper, an’ I just… I don’t wanna take it out on them, I can’t, I shouldn’t. They deserve better, ya know? And I’m scared. Scared I’ll repeat. That I’ll become the thing they tried to escape.” A heavy, heavy sigh rattled his chest, drooped his shoulders impossibly further. “If I just become the very thing they want to get away from, they might think there’s no hope anywhere for them, that they’ll just keep repeating the cycle or falling victim. And after that… I don’t know. I don’t know. I just know I don’t want to be the reason.”

 

Ace didn’t know if he liked this. He wasn’t sure if he smelled alcohol or not; after the Grunts’ partying, everything had a subtle undertone of alcohol anyway, and he didn’t want to blame this dam break on him being drunk. If he recalled correctly, Guzma didn’t drink anyway. Maybe a part of his bad experiences, too. So he just turned his head towards the man; he didn’t look at him directly, but rather just turned his head almost at an angle towards his, but his eyes fell more to the ground, or maybe the hands clasped in his lap, the purple skulls parallel to one another. Ace liked those tattoos. 

 

“Everyone’s got flaws,” he started carefully. He didn’t want to veer off track or say the wrong thing, but he wasn’t quite sure how to handle this new side of Guzma, worried he’d open a floodbreak of bad memories and experiences. “You’re doing the best you can so far.”

 

“That’s the problem. It’s the best I can, but I’m still a failure. I’m still lashing out at them, and scaring them, or threatening them when I lose my temper. I don’t want to hurt them. I can’t do it, Ace.”

 

The use of his name made the whole situation much more personal. He flinched, uncertain why it left a wound in his chest. “If you’re that worried… I’ll help you, right? Make sure you don’t lash out on the grunts?”

 

Guzma sighed, whether in relief or anxiety, Ace wasn’t sure. “Thanks, homie.” 

 

“...” Ace watched him for a moment, avoiding his face in case he’d break the atmosphere. “Guz…” He felt the man look at his face, as if seeking him out. He decided to indulge it, searching the stormy gray of his eyes. “You’re gonna be alright. Okay? You’re… you’re you. You’re someone they look to, whether you like it or not. You’re their boy, yeah? They’re smart, and they’re here. And, at the end of the day, they’re safe. Safer than their original situation, or they wouldn’t be here, right? You’re  _ fine,  _ G. You’re not a monster.  Don’t worry that that’s what you’ll become.”

 

Guzma looked… He didn’t know what. He didn’t seem like he was going to cry, but a shade of mist was threatening underneath the surface. Ace could  _ feel  _ the gears turning in his head, processing the little impromptu speech. It dawned on him that this was the longest the man had ever held his eye contact, and it implanted itself into the back of his mind. Finally, finally, he broke it, looking down and away, more towards Ace’s lap, or the hands clasped together, hanging over his knees. 

 

“Thanks, Ace. I… You’re probably right.” It looked like there was more he wanted to say, but instead he fell into silence, replacing their conversation with a strange tension. The roads were empty now, and the moon was high over their heads. He glanced over his shoulder, and Ace followed his gaze. Nothing was there, but he stood up, the ranger following suit. “I guess we should go in.” 

 

Deciding not to push his boss further, he just nodded, accepting the strong hand that was offered, gripping tight as he was pulled to his feet. They walked inside, hands in their pockets, not saying anything. Outside of Guzma’s door, they paused, looking at one another. The air between them was thick, as if they wanted to say something, do something more. After a long look, Guzma finally opened his door, stepping in. 

  
Ace looked away. He wished one of them were braver. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impulse takes the helm.

  
  


Ace spends the next month or so going on more important missions, leading grunts around or checking in on teams, scouting for this or that, busting more abused pokemon cases, or in some cases, abused people through recruiting them to the team. It was with a sense of pride that he carried himself, to be such a key role in something so big. Sure, people still generally thought of them as nuisances, but he felt like he was making a difference for his own cause. And really, whose else mattered? They only looked out for their own goals, so he had to be a little selfish and work towards his own. 

 

He settled into something of a routine. Not a day to day one, per se, but a list of tasks he would rotate out - visit the Jungle one day, or rescue pokemon the next, or meet up with grunts, or what have you. Some days he’d just sit with Guzma in his room, plotting their next move with Plumeria or helping out a grunt in need. Some days were quiet, filled with tranquility as they sat in his room, generally unbothered, watching the Pokemon play or having idle conversation. Others were hectic, playing games with the Grunts some nights or hosting tournament style battles. Occasionally, Ace would send grunts to buy ingredients to cook for the team, and it’d be a night of drinking and laughing and hanging out, like a mini-celebration. It was nice to have something other than pizza or takeout, and free food from the Admin put the grunts in good spirits. 

 

So he was a bit surprised one day when Guzma looked away from his computer to the Grunt at the door. “Hey, scram. We’re gonna talk for a bit. Don’t let anyone in, hear?” The grunt nodded, ducking out the door and shutting it behind him. The boss waited a beat before looking at Ace, who was watching him expectantly. “Ace, I need you ta do me a favor. Sort of. I need you to come somewhere with me.”

 

“Always,” was the automatic response. It surprised him, but he didn’t retract it. Guzma considered him for a few minutes before nodding.

 

“Okay, yeah. I need you to come with me,” he repeated. “A little ‘strength in numbers’ type deal. Don’t ask no questions, just trust me, right?” At this, Ace nodded, and Guzma settled into his chair, though looking a little more on edge now. “Good. We’ll leave tonight.”

 

The hours passed, the skull boss getting more and more nervous as time passed. When the Grunt came back in, he made the mistake of asking a question about something or other. Guzma snarled at him, slamming his fists onto the chair. Ace was up in a second, hovering over the terrified Grunt, placing a hand on either shoulder. 

 

“G,” he scolded, glaring him down until the man relaxed. He sighed, and Ace patted the grunt on the shoulder, nodding to the door to let him escape which he did happily. “C’mon, G. You know better,” he scolded softly. He glared at him, but he held his steady gaze until he slumped down in the chair. He didn’t apologize, but Ace wasn’t expecting one anyway. It was good enough for him. 

 

Finally, night fell, and the two set out. No pokemon out of the balls, just him and Guzma walking in the pitch blackness. The moon was barely present, the new moon approaching in just a few days. He followed the man closely, watching him carefully but certainly work his way to the Team Skull boat that would ferry them to another island. He stood at the bow of the boat, watching the water rush past him with the wind. Growlithe would like this, he thought, but tonight was not the night. Maybe they’d go for a ride another night. Instead, he looked back at Guzma, piloting with an unreadable but stern expression on his face, far away from his body. 

 

They landed and docked their boat in an uninhabited dock, and he fell in step beside him. He seemed to be in less of a hurry now, though no less uncertain. They finally found themselves on a hill overlooking a house, a road, a motel. They stood for a while, Guzma totally transfixed on the house just below them. A yellow swing blew in the night breeze, in such a rhythm that Ace wondered if a ghost pokemon was resting on top, invisible to the eye. The kitchen light was on, and occasionally a figure would move past, though he couldn’t make out who it was or what they looked like. Guzma slowly crouched down, as if settling in for the long haul. Ace sat beside him, a few inches behind, to keep an eye on him too. His companion didn’t notice, just staring at the house, a wash of emotions twisting his face into a pained contortion he wasn’t sure was fully human. He tries watching the house too, but without the context, the background, the experiences Guzma had apparently accumulated here, it meant nothing to him. So instead he watched the skull boss, mentally tracing the hard lines on his face, the bridge of his nose, the black hair that disappeared under the mop of white. 

 

He didn’t know how long they sat there before Guzma opened his mouth to speak.

 

“My parents’ house.” He waited for more, but apparently that was the only explanation he was getting. The boss glanced back, noticing how far away he was, and sat down fully from his crouch, landing himself directly beside his admin. His knee was leaning to touch his, maybe consciously, maybe subconsciously, seeking contact. Maybe for warmth or support or just reassurance that he was there. He went back to staring at the house, eyes grazing as if watching for something. A little uncertainly, Ace raised a tentative hand, reaching out. He paused, then decided to just go for it, placing it gently on the skull emblem on his back. Guzma didn’t look at him, but relaxed just a fraction at the reassuring gesture. Ace rubbed his thumb idly, switching between looking at the house, the swing, and the man. No more conversation passed. No more was needed. 

 

It was a few hours that they sat like this, the only movement being the ruffle in their hair when the breeze would pass, or the slight swish of his thumb along the left half of the S. It was calm, for him. Guzma still had the subtle undertone of nervous tension, though the feeling of the taut wire ready to snap had loosened considerably with his active company. Finally, a figure was seen stumbling up the dirt path, trying to keep its composure. The surge of rigidity up Guzma’s spine was like he was struck with electricity, stiff as stone under his hand. He rubbed his hand fully down his back now, back up, making himself a more physical presence. He wasn’t sure how much of a difference he was making, but the desire to help his friend was overwhelming the need to help his boss. The man, close enough now to determine it  _ was  _ a man, nothing too big but definitely had some bulk on him, shoved the door open, then slammed the door closed. Guzma’s body heaved under his hand, and he realized he was panting, eyes a little wider than normal.  A light flicked on further in the house a moment later, and the skull boss bolted, sprinting in the other direction, down the street, towards the docks. Ace scrambled to get to his feet, to catch up to him. He untied the boat while his boss frantically started the engine, fingers shaking nearly too hard to do it. The ranger hopped in, jogging over to the control, standing beside his boss and pressing what was needed to get out of there. Whatever had set him off had set him off bad, and he didn’t want to make him think harder than he needed to and end up shutting down.

 

Guzma piloted at breakneck speeds, not even registering the assuring hand on his lower back, nearly crashing into the dock. Ace barely had time to tie the boat before he was sprinting to catch up to his friend, who was fleeing back to the mansion as fast as he could. A grunt or two were outside, and waved at the duo, but neither responded, too busy trying to escape from whatever the tall man was trying to forget.

 

They didn’t stop until they were in Guzma’s room, panting heavily, Ace shutting the door behind him as Guzma collapsed on all fours, heaving, eyes glazed. To see the usually hard man crouching prone before him felt wrong, like the world had crumpled alongside him. Ace let him rest there, trying to catch his breath, but when no breath came, just the gasping of panic, he knelt down in front of him, helping the unresponsive man to his feet. He dragged him to the bed, sitting beside him. Guzma just tried to catch his breath, but no catch was coming, and it was sending him into a spiral of panic and anxiety. Uncertain what else to do, Ace finally reached out, wrapping his arms around the man, pulling him to his chest. Fingers clutched the fabric of his tank top, gripping as if he’d float away otherwise. 

 

“Hey, listen, Guzma. Breathe. I know it’s hard. I know it bothered you.” He didn’t. A lie, but he didn’t know what else to do - or say - in this situation. He wasn’t used to big bad Guzma having a total meltdown right in front of him. A face buried into his neck, and he cradled him with one arm supporting his waist, the other running widely across his back. “Ahh… G, listen. You’re strong. You’re safe. You’re at home in Po town, in Skull territory -  _ your  _ gang - and I’m here. I’m here, okay? I’m here.” 

 

He kept soothing him, gently, trying to keep the uncertainty out of his voice, until finally he felt Guzma breathing, and in time with the rise and fall of his own chest. The vulnerability of his friend brought a surge of protectiveness to his forefront, and he held him just a little tighter. Finally, Guzma pulled his head away, though allowed his body to stay cradled close. 

 

“So lame that you saw that,” he whispered hoarsely, voice wracked from stress and heaving so hard for breath. A defense mechanism if Ace ever saw one. He slid his hand up past his hood to cup the back of his neck, forcing Guzma to look at him. 

 

“It’s not, G. It’s okay. You have every right to feel the way you do. Just… I’m here for you, yeah?” 

 

Guzma’s face heated, a light dust of red on his cheeks. Ace pulled him in for a tight hug, and felt the words in his ear more than heard them: “Thank you.”

 

Separating had been harder than he expected, but it wasn’t a very comfortable position and they were covered in dried-sweaty clothes and still had their shoes on. Not to mention the exhaustion creeping up on them. Ace started to stand, but startled when a hand struck like a Seviper to catch his arm. 

 

“...Don’t go, Ace.” He thought he heard a soft ‘ _please,’_ but he couldn’t be too entirely certain. Instead, he nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Guzma relaxed visibly, walking over to his dresser to draw out a new shirt for himself. Then, a second thought, pulled out another, tossing it to Ace, who stood to catch it. “You can just wear mine tonight,” he said sheepishly, in a way that demanded no response. “It should fit, I’m taller, but you’re…” He looked at the man’s muscle, from years of working in the rougher terrains and forests, climbing trees and rocks, carrying pokemon. “Yeah. Anyway.”

 

Ace tried to bite his smile, shedding his gross tank top and tossing it towards the door so he wouldn’t forget it tomorrow. He slid off his socks and shoes, tossing them over, too. He shoved on the white t-shirt, a little long, but not  _ too  _ loose. He knew G liked his clothes a little baggier, so this shirt was just about right for him. Guzma turned his back to get changed, and Ace pretended not to see the relief flood his face as he turned away to give him a little privacy. He walked to the door, locking and bolting it, trying to prevent the inevitable barge-in of a grunt - or worse, Plumeria.

  
When he finally turned back, Guzma had made his way to the bed, settling in comfortably. He almost considered just leaving, now that he seemed fine, but Guzma wanted him to stay. He wouldn’t admit to how badly he wanted to, anyway. Instead, he crawled in beside him, eyes slipping closed at the soft flutter of the blanket being thrown over them. When he opened them again, hazy white were staring back, searching his face for something. Ace slid his arm over his waist, tugging him slightly closer, closing the majority of the gap between them, leaving enough space for Guzma’s hands to slide up his chest. He likes being surrounded like this. Wearing his clothes, inhaling his scent, holding his body. It’s soothing, in a way he couldn’t explain. The man is still staring at his face, eyes slightly too wide, as if he just can’t figure something out, or had too much to process and not enough brainpower. Ace tilted his head down, touching their foreheads together, and sighed, their breath mingling. When he opened his eyes, Guzma’s were closed, feeling calmer already. Ace adjusted so his head was on top of his, letting the taller man tuck in under his chin and curl closer into him. He felt the body beside him relax, finally letting out the tension he’d been holding all day with one last sigh. Ace listened until his breathing turned steady, and finally let it lull him to sleep alongside him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust is hard earned, but loyalty has a lot of pull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's a little short, because the next one is long.

Waking up the next morning wasn’t the same refreshing feeling you read about in romance novels. Morning came with an exhausted grogginess from not sleeping enough hours and adjusting to sleeping beside someone. He was a little better adjusted, thanks to sleeping surrounded by pokemon at night. Ace’s eyes fluttered open first, having to fight them to stay open and focus. Through the morning haze, he finally registered the warmth pressed against him was Guzma, still sleeping soundly. Not moving so as not to wake him up, he tried to imprint the memory in his mind; the blessedly peaceful expression on his face, the way his hair flopped towards the pillow, the slight part of his lips, the warmth radiating between them, the less-noticeable but still ever-present scent that was purely  _ him.  _ He could survive a lot of horrors if it meant keeping this memory locked tight within his mind. 

 

Finally, Guzma shifted, and he tightened his hold instinctively around his waist. The boss roused then, taking a few moments to process where he was and to allow the memories to come flooding back as his eyes opened. Ace watched him carefully, relieved when the man didn’t react negatively or push him away, instead reaching up and sliding a hand across his cheek and cupping his jaw. He couldn’t fight the soft smile toying on his lips. 

 

“...Yer breath stinks,” Guzma finally said, and Ace grinned, exhaling heavily into his face. He threw his head back dramatically, playing dead, making Ace smush his hand onto his face. Oh, god, he was a huge  _ dork.  _ Really, he was happy for it; playing like their usual selves took away the worry of the “morning after talk,” if “night before” meant “watching your boss/friend/guy you have weird feelings for that might be romantic but at this rate who knows/etc stalk his childhood home then go home and have a panic attack-meltdown that made you sleep in the same bed together.” But they were adults, grown men, and he knew at some point they’d have to face it, especially if Guzma planned to go back there again. So he sighed, watching the way Guzma unconsciously mimicked him, his own chest rising and falling with the heavy release of breath. 

 

“C’mon. Let’s get dressed and I’ll buy you lunch. Breakfast?” He wasn’t quite aware what time it was, but they needed to eat. He paused to think. “We’ll talk after food.” Guzma sobered at this, nodding solemnly. At least he wasn’t stupid enough to try to brush it off. Maybe with someone else he would, but Ace liked to hope he at least deserved an explanation. They dressed simply; no Skull emblems to be seen - aside from Guzma’s usual tattoos - Ace in his black tank and shorts, Guzma in a white T and black pants. In the end, they always stuck to a color scheme, but random passersby wouldn’t pinpoint them as Skull unless they actually knew who they were. 

 

They walked leisurely, closely without touching. They ended up sitting outside, letting the sun beat down as they chatted idly and joked as usual over their lunches, as if the guillotine wasn’t about to cut the rope. Eventually, they finished, making their way to a private part of Malie Gardens. They settled themselves leaning over a railing, watching the Goldeen swim idly around the pond. Ace waited, giving him time to think, to prep his words.

 

Finally, Guzma spoke, his gaze on a particularly small orange and white Goldeen. “I guess, there’s not too much to tell. He was an abusive drunk, and I’ve seen those fuckin’ golf clubs of his too many times. If he was in a good mood, he’d only hit me a few times, and take the rest out on the floors or walls.” Ace’s hand on his back was a warm reminder, slowly becoming something he was too used to. “I was never good enough, you know? Couldn’t get trial captain, couldn’t get first place in any of my contests...” He backpedaled, apparently unwilling to talk too much about his own failures. “I just… I dunno. I guess I wanna make sure he doesn’t hurt her. My mom.” He rolled his shoulders, dropping his chin onto his forearms, folded on the railing. Ace turned, leaning his back against the railing, his right hand stroking down his back now instead of his left. “She was never terrible to me. But what could she do, I guess, right? I mean, besides fuckin’  _ stop him,  _ but he’s out of goddamned control anyway.” A heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Ace. I don’t know what I expect out of going back there. What I’d do if he  _ did  _ replace me with her. I don’t even know if I’d help her.”

Ace waited a beat, but no more came. Hesitantly, he reached up, running a hand through the thick white hair, no visible part to be seen, watched Guzma’s eyes slip closed. “G?” The man cracked an eye, looking up at him, looking about as tired as he, himself felt. “Thank you for telling me.”

 

“I don’t want your pity,” he said with a scowl. Ace moved his hand to the side of his face, pressing it gently to look at him. Knowing what he knew now, he wouldn’t dare force the man to do anything without explicit consent.

 

“It’s not pity. Thank you for trusting me.” He let him go, his hand falling to the railing, but Guzma still eyed him, curious and wary. “I promise not to take it for granted. And I hope you’ll let me put that same trust in you.” A little too serious for the two, usually goofy and relaxed, but Ace figured that this needed cleansing. “...G? Can you tell me how to help you?”

 

So he did.

 

Days passed quickly and without incident after that. Back into the routine, but Ace found himself in Guzma’s room more often than his own. Crashing there didn’t feel like such a big deal, to the point that even the Grunts barely talked about it. It was almost like second nature. Guzma was notorious for not respecting personal space, so seeing him standing far too close to Ace or slinging his legs over his lap on the couch fazed no one. It was starting to drive Ace  _ crazy;  _ he was trying to sort out his feelings here. He was  _ pretty  _ sure best friends didn’t leave a heavy lead weight in his chest when they separated or make his bed seem too big for just him, pokemon included, or look at him through hooded eyes while he’s talking until he almost lost his train of thought getting lost in it. But he didn’t feel the love people always explained, or the “love” he’d felt as a teenager. At least, he didn’t have a crush, he figured. His heart didn’t skip when he saw Guzma throw his head back and laugh, or feel the burning jealousy when Guzma was leaning against the wall a little too close to a starstruck Grunt, or feel nervous when it was the two of them alone. 

  
With Guzma, he just felt… free. He was free, with him. He had freed him, to do as he pleased, to have real experiences, to make real friendships and make a real difference. He was his own man, one that always chose to come home to Guzma. Guzma, who felt like home wrapped up in his arms, or grinning over at him, or standing in front of him in the dark as they scouted the area for a new plan or to watch their Grunts in action. It wasn’t that jumpy, flightiness they always described. It was emancipation, but security, freeing yet grounding.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's not one for beating around the bush.

It wasn’t until Plumeria’s birthday that they were actually able to have a real moment together. Nearby, there was a festival in town, and they used it as a “pre made party” for the female admin. Grunts dressed in street clothes, keeping trouble on the down low to just keep Plumeria company and give her a good birthday. The moon was shining, brighter still than the lanterns and fire torches lining the streets. Shops, food vendors, games, all were set up along the roads to encourage people to visit their stalls and spend their money. After entertaining Plumeria for a while, they left her in the hands of the grunts, sneaking off for a moment of peace on the beach overlooking the water, hidden by a cliff. 

 

They leaned against the rock wall, just watching the waves roll in. They listened to the music playing faintly behind them, the clatter and chatter of the festival on par in volume. Laughter came in peals, children shouting. Despite his extroverted nature, Ace was far more content to relax here with Guzma. He’d been feeling a little overwhelmed with all the hustle and bustle; it was a very big festival, and visitors from every island piled onto this one town to celebrate. The backs of their hands brushed, and Ace was shocked to feel Guzma intertwine their fingers. Neither looked at one another, still watching the moonlight dance on the shifting of the waves. It felt right. His hand was warm, and big, and wasn’t too loose in its hold. They stood in silence for a while longer, until Ace breathed out.

 

“G?” Just say it. Please, for the love of  _ God,  _ don’t chicken out of this one.

 

“Mmm.”

 

“...I want to kiss you. Is that okay?” There. He said it. He just… he had to know. He had to know if what he felt was real, as if a kiss would solve everything, thoughts crashing in his mind like the waves on the shore. He heard Guzma inhale sharply, but quietly, sucking in through his teeth. Ace’s heart pounded in his chest, finally  _ actually  _ feeling nervous and  _ maybe  _ this wasn’t a good idea and  _ maybe  _ he should look into going back to the house he was renting.

 

“...Yeah.” Never mind. They turned to look at each other, Ace having to look up just a few inches as Guzma actually stood  _ mostly  _ straight, still not quite willing to face the world chest-out-chin-up style. Ace slid a hand around his neck, cupping the base of his jaw so his fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, thumb along the black sideburns cropped neatly by his ears. A pair of arms slid around his waist, the two barely giving the other a chance to feel anxiety before they closed the gap between their lips, Ace tilting his head slightly to get a better angle. It was soft, almost gentle, but far from chaste. He could  _ feel  _ the emotions Guzma was trying to express when he couldn’t put them into words. It was warm, like the first time the Alolan sun had soaked into his shirt. It felt like home. They kissed for far too long, breathing through the nose so they wouldn’t have to separate or starve themselves of air. It had been so long, so many months since he’d  _ wanted this.  _ Finally, they broke off, though barely separating a few inches. Guzma leaned his forehead against Ace’s, who chased him for one more brief kiss, like they weren’t quite ready to let each other go.

 

“G…-”

 

“Ace, I’ve wanted to… for so long,” Guzma admits, the two panting slightly into one another. 

 

“Mm. Since when?” Ace pressed his lips along his cheek, down to his jawline, but not further. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself if he went further. Guzma’s head tilted slightly off, almost inviting him to his neck, one he did not take, brushing his lips along his jaw. 

 

“Growlithe, I think it started. Watching you in action-” he paused to let out a sigh at the attention at the sharp angle of his jaw, “-saving him. Even after he tried to hurt you.”

 

Ace tried to imagine the scenario from the nearby woods, as a bystander, watching him break the chain, take the fangs of a Growlithe he was trying to protect. It didn’t feel noteworthy to him. It just felt like a necessity. There was no other option.

 

“That was my father’s brother’s, you know. His house. His Growlithe.” Ah, it ran in the family. Ace wondered, distantly, if Guzma was hoping for the same, for him to break his own chain, the one keeping him locked to that house. He started to say something more, but the ranger caught his lips again, tangling his fingers into the short black of his hair. The boss tightened the arms around his waist, pressing them flush against one another. It wasn’t a kiss Ace had ever had before. He knew only two; soft, gentle, and sweet, or heated, passionate with an end goal. This was… different. This was new. It had heat, but not with the hidden promise of more, like this was enough, for now. It was unsettlingly intimate, the very man who granted him freedom now grounding him so heavily. It made him hyperaware of the heat where their bodies touched, the soft thickness of the hair under his fingers, the tightness of Guzma’s arms around him like he was terrified letting go meant letting go forever. It was Guzma this time that broke off first, close enough still that their lips still brushed when he spoke. 

“They’re going to start looking for us soon,” he mused.

“I know,” Ace replied.

 

“We should go back.”

 

“We should.”

 

“I don’t want to.”

“Me neither.” He stole another brief kiss, unable to resist when he was just  _ so close.  _ He held onto the swell of emotion when he felt the man chase him briefly when he pulled back, though stopping himself as if he had done it subconsciously. Finally, he sighed heavily, his arms sliding away and leaving the admin’s skin feeling cold and exposed, even under his shirt. He looked up at the top of the cliff, where just past it was the festival, still going strong. 

 

“Should we… I mean, do you…” Ace thought for a second he was talking about the festival, but the uncertainty made him reconsider. “Are we…”  _ Together? Going to tell them? Going to do this again?  _

 

Ace reached up, cupped his jaw with a free hand. Guzma covered it with his own, hazy gray eyes searching the dark brown desperately. “I’ll follow your lead. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

 

Guzma grinned, and while it looked cocky, he could see the relief in there, too. “If I have my way, they’re gonna know pretty fast,” he teased, his hands dropping to Ace’s hips, whose own hands slid down to rest on his chest.

 

“What’s stopping you?” He challenged, satisfied with the way Guzma’s face fell as all the breath left his lungs with a  _ whoosh,  _ his fingers tightening to a bruising grip. 

 

“You’re dangerous,” he growled finally, clearly trying to keep himself in check. Finally they separated for real, deciding to head back before they were too actively missed. The distance felt too far already, though they stood close like before, it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t ready to just let him go. He wasn’t willing to just pretend and fake around his family, either. Silently, he slid a hand around to Guzma’s lower back, earning only a curious look and that’s it. Good. 

 

Apparently, no one noticed they were gone, or really noticed anything out of the ordinary. He was surprised they couldn’t hear the heart pounding in his chest, or the adrenaline that had been surging his veins with fire in his blood. But they just greeted them, laughing, joking, most of them drunk, including Plumeria. She came over and hugged them, grinning, looking overall wishy-washy and unsteady. Ace backed up a step as she let them go, her grabbing Guzma’s hand and challenging him to a nearby game booth. One brief, shared glance, and they disappeared. Ace turned to see the very sober grunt looking after them, too. They made eye contact and the ranger offered a grin, which was returned. He nodded after them, and they walked together to watch their respective companions. “Our boy drunk too?” He asked, cocking his head. Ace considered it for a second, and shrugged. 

 

“A bit,” he replied, happy to have an excuse, though uncertain why. The grunt nodded, sipping at his soda, offering some to the admin. He accepted it gratefully, relishing the way his lips felt swollen and bruised around the straw.

 

Finally tiredness started to overtake them, and Plumeria was more than ready to sleep. The grunt looped an arm through hers, guiding her back to the house with Ace and Guzma following behind. They thanked the Grunt as he dropped Plumeria into her bed, ducking out respectfully. They watched him go down the stairs, heading down the hall to their rooms. Guzma opened the door to his room and, noticing his admin’s hesitation, jerked his head to motion he come inside. He did, and before he could say a word, the door clicked shut behind him and strong hands were on his hips, pressing him against the door firmly, his mouth smothered in seconds. The smallest groan slipped past his lips, in surprise and appreciation. He bit the boss’s bottom lip, grinning at the gasp it dragged out. Maybe Guzma was right. Maybe he  _ was  _ dangerous. He decided to take that title and run, swiping his tongue across Guzma’s bottom lip and accepting the tongue that pressed into his mouth willingly. 

 

He didn’t know how long it was before they parted, but they were both panting, hands digging in his hips, his fingers curled into the fabric of that white T-shirt. Guzma’s lips were visibly kiss-bitten, which made a wicked smirk curl along his own, which probably looked just as bad. As adrenaline-drunk they were, the high was wearing off, and exhaustion was kicking in. He let himself be tugged to the bed, stepping out of his shoes and sliding off his socks before settling in beside the white-haired man, whose head was back on the pillow, staring back at him through half-lidded eyes.

 

“I love the way you look at me,” Ace admitted softly. Guzma quirked a brow, making him elaborate. “Like you’re always still trying to figure me out.”

 

“I am.” Ace kissed him briefly, only a passing chasteness. 

 

“Hopefully you’ve got a long way to go.” He braced a hand on the other side of Guzma, propping himself up to hover over him but not straddle him. He knew all too well how easily it would be to just get lost in kissing him, get carried away on the high and go farther than he’d like. He wanted to enjoy Guzma, savor him completely, slowly. He ducked his head, pressing a kiss on the fabric over his heart. Leaning back up, the look in those hazy gray eyes made an aching pain settle in his chest, not pleasant, but not necessarily unpleasant. “I think you’re really handsome, you know? And like, enigmatic? But in a good way.” He wasn’t sure what to make of the hitch in Guzma’s breath, but he would happily accept the hand dragging him down for a kiss, desperate for  _ something  _ he couldn’t quite place. He felt the hand that wasn’t on his neck resting gently on his thigh, not moving, just bracing himself against something. It wasn’t until they were panting for breath that he pulled off, lying beside him, just looking at one another. His hand ran up and down his side, the other arm tucked under his pillow out of the way. Guzma had one hand on his stomach, tracing lines into the black tank, the other just braced against his chest. Ace briefly ducked his head, kissing the purple ink on his forearm that he could just reach. “You know I love these tattoos, right?”

 

“What do you want?” The question was out of nowhere, though on second thought, maybe it wasn’t. He’d been waiting for it. 

 

_ To help you. To save you.  _ The first answers that came to his mind were all wrong. That wasn’t why someone got into a relationship.  _ Because you freed me.  _ That makes it sound like a debt.  _ Because you make me feel free.  _ Better. 

 

“To be with you?” Not quite the answer he expected to give, but it was a start, if ineloquent. “...What do  _ you  _ want?” Maybe it’d help him shape his answer. Guzma eyed him for a moment. 

 

“To make you mine,” he replied finally. 

  
“I already am.” Wholly and completely, whatever that may entail. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, change outside is needed to reflect change inside.

 

It didn’t take long, once they decided to tell the grunts, for the entire team to know. They only told a handful, first and foremost Plumeria, and they spread it after being told it was cool to spill. Saved the trouble of an announcement, and rumors, or upsets in the streets. Not that it was a huge deal, but Ace liked to be an open book to the grunts when he could. He wanted their trust, to the degree of loyalty. They were his family, and deserved a leader like that. 

 

Ace watched Wimpod crawl all over his stomach. He’d propped up a leg, so it would crawl up to the apex of his knee, then leap off onto his chest, then sprinting down to his extended foot. It was silly, and it was entertaining. Growlithe was lying beside him, watching with half-hearted interest, dozing in the lazy afternoon. Guzma was off doing his own thing with Plumeria, leaving him alone with the Pokemon. It took little to convince Guzma that no, he was  _ not  _ going to stop sleeping with his boys, no matter how small the bed felt. They didn’t sleep together every night, but it happened more often than not at this point. It was just too easy, considering they were literally one door away from one another. Jolteon and Sandshrew were playing in the center of the room, killing off energy after getting a few treats of Beans after lunch. Still too early for him to eat. He signalled them all to follow him, Wimpod on his shoulder, his little travelling troupe. 

He heads out into Po Town, seeking out a specific house. He knows his grunts by now - hesitates in the road; when had they become  _ his  _ grunts? Become something more than nameless thugs? - and the one he’s looking for  _ should  _ be home today. He knocks, opens the door when he hears a ‘Whassup,’ from inside. 

 

“Admin Ace! What you doing here?” The grunt’s dressed in street clothes, not his usual Skull gear. With a quick glance, it looked like he was doing laundry. Cute. All his grunts were cute.

 

“Sorry to bother you, Alan.” He stepped in, shutting the door behind himself. “You know better, it’s just Ace. I need a change. Mind chopping my hair for me?” 

 

“Oh, no worries! You’re always good here, Ace.” He looked over his shoulder at his washer. “I just put in some laundry, so you may have to hang on while I do that, yeah?”

 

Ace relaxed, watching his Pokemon make themselves comfortable. Alan’s Toucannon was sitting on his perch, watching everyone warily. His Meowth made itself busy greeting its friends. He’d hung out with Alan a few times, knowing about his abilities. He wasn’t some master hairdresser, but he offered chops to his teammates for cheap, and was good at the standard. But he had something else in mind. “You can pause when you put the bleach in.” Alan looked at the streak in the front of his hair, which had grown nearly to his shoulders. He’d been tying it back, and it just got away from him. But that was enough. 

 

He sat down in the chair, explaining to him what exactly he wanted. It was a big change, but Alan was happy for the challenge. “Gets boring doing the same shit, ya know?” He nodded, knowing what he meant. He watched his scissors go to work, chopping off long locks that fell to the ground, which Jolteon and Meowth found great joy in batting around. He looked at the mirror, watched the boy work. Feeling the eyes on him, he made eye contact in the mirror, grinning at his admin before concentrating again. It filled him with warmth. He looked to the left, where tucked in the side of the mirror was a photograph, of him and another grunt, grinning at the camera and arms around each other’s shoulders. Seeing his gaze, Alan spoke.

 

“Me and Bryan… he’s my boy, you know?” The look on his face was wistful, a little far away, as if he was with him now. He knew about them; there was little he didn’t know about the lives of his grunts. “My parents kicked me out after they found out about him, about us. But Big Sis told me I could live here, work for Skull, we could be together. He was already a member,and it was like yo, this shit is too good to be true, right?” He snipped some of the hair at his neck. “It’s been three years. I’m gonna marry him someday, boss.” 

 

Ace tilted his head down, finally looking away from the photo. “You’re good together. I’m happy you have someone.” The buzz of the clippers hums to life, vibrating along his neck as he cropped the hair to a few inches.

 

“What about you, dawg? I’m glad our boy has someone now. He’s happy, you know?” He paused, just clipping his hair. “I mean, I guess you do know, but I’m glad it’s you. Y’all are like, a sexy power couple.” It makes Ace laugh, thank him. He applies the bleach halfway down his head, then again at the end. He wraps it up, the two chatting idly but happily about anything, Alan doing his laundry, Ace petting Meowth, who had crawled into his lap when the activity died down. After he put the last load in the dryer - he really didn’t have a lot of clothing, none of them did - he sat on the chair beside him, backwards so he could lean on the backrest. It was good to have  a friend in Alan; he was one of the grunts he felt he could really connect with. They always had a good time together. He felt like he wouldn’t be judged around him, either. Alan had accepted his leadership from day one, even though most didn’t challenge him anyway. He let himself get lost in the good feeling of having someone wash his hair. He’d have to beg Guzma to do this for him sometime; there was something intimate and oh-so-good about someone else washing his hair. He could fall asleep here. As Alan was blow drying his hair, he got a text.

  
  


**[1:14 PM] magmarticuno?**

He smiled briefly. Alan let out a teasing ‘Ooooooh,’ which made him laugh.

 

**[1:14 PM] what about P?**

 

Waiting for an answer, he admired the new look. The faux hawk looked good on him, the two stripes of blonde almost platinum white against the black. He looked at himself as a whole. He looked… good. Sexy. Not the awkward ranger from the Johto forest, but like a real gangster, who carried himself with confidence and almost swagger. He paid Alan far too much, adding on that he owed him, and Bryan, a date on him. “Make it a double date,” he half teased, half demanded, and Ace laughed, agreeing. He checked his phone.

**[1:16 PM] off to do her own thing. Think she’s meeting with that grunt she likes so much.**

 

**[1:23 PM] on my way**

 

It took him a few minutes to wrangle the pokemon in their balls, especially Wimpod, who seemed to panic when the other Pokemon disappeared, until he mentioned Guzma’s name, and the bug happily crawled over for retrieval. He ran home and tossed a short-sleeved black button up shirt to cover his tank; usually out and about like this they were a little more covert. While they were pretty recognizable if someone knew them, the general public wouldn’t come for them if they didn’t see the skull emblems. Nothing could be done about the tattoos, but not many looked closely enough at them to make the connection. Ace flopped the fabric a bit, straightening it out, before heading to town.

  
  


Inside, Guzma was standing already, looking at the menu. Ace snuck up, sliding his arms around his waist and pressing his body against his- well, his Guzma’s. He didn’t like calling him his boyfriend; it always felt so… childish. Far too soon in the relationship to use soulmate or husband, so he generally stuck with lover. It may sound less formal, but to him, it held so much more meaning than just ‘boyfriend.’ Besides, this man was a force of nature, a walking hurricane, and deserved a title better than that. If teenagers could use the term to describe their relationship, it was certainly not good enough for his partner. He nestled his chin on the shoulder in front of him, grinning at the kiss that landed on his temple.

“Yo, yo. What you want on it?” Ace raised a brow at him, making him laugh. “Hey, just checking. Maybe sometime you’ll want something other than extra cheese. I ain’t no mind reader.” They ordered, with toppings on only half. No meat, Ace noticed. It warmed a part of him deep inside; he only ate meat when necessary, and to think he considered the flavors spilling over onto his side, or grease from pepperoni ruining it. He pressed a gentle kiss to the shoulder under his chin briefly, though Guzma couldn’t possibly know why. 

 

Once it came out, they took their pizza to one of the outside tables, sitting in the sun. “You look sexy,” Guzma commented, earning himself a cheeky grin and a ‘yeah?’ “Yeah. I like this hair better.”

 

“Me too,” Ace admits, taking a bite of pizza, watching the melty cheese string a bit before breaking. Fresh pizza was unbeatable. Fresh pizza with his lover in the Alolan sunshine was unbe _ lievable.  _ He sat and listened to Guzma recount his day as they polished off their pizza slowly but surely. Their legs were entangled under the table, passing a large soda back and forth. Something about it all was too painfully intimate, but he relished it, watching the team skull boss recount something Plumeria did that wowed him. Ace placed a hand on his chin, totally enraptured. Finally, Guzma paused, raising a brow. 

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing, I guess. I’m just… You’re fuckin’ perfect, you know?” Guzma may be hard as bone, but he couldn’t resist the flush in his cheeks, which made Ace smirk. “I’m a lucky bastard.” 

 

Finally, they stood to dump their plates and pizza box, hands blissfully intertwined. They started to walk to the apparel shop, Ace saying something about needing a new shirt. Guzma heartily disagreed, earning a sharp look that just made him laugh. He trifled through the racks, ignoring the suspicious look from the girl at the counter. He’d  _ pay,  _ quit glaring, honey. He tugged off a black tank, a white X crossing out the back. He cocked his head, considering, then glanced at his lover. He looked bored out of his mind, so he paid the nervous girl, making certain to flash a devilish smile and a wink, tossing the shirt over his shoulder so he didn't need to carry a bag. Maybe this villain life was getting too ingrained into his head, but he was far past caring. He sauntered out, tapping his lover on the back to signify their leaving. 

 

“Well well, look who’s feelin’ himself,” Guzma remarked, smirking. “Gets a cut and suddenly he’s Mr. Hot Shot around here.”  

Ace just grinned at him, catching his forearm and dragging him into him, the other hand around his waist easily. Yeah, he felt good. Maybe he earned it, after a lifetime of shit. “Maybe I am. But who’s gonna benefit from that?” He prompted, his lips only inches from his lover’s, whose cheeky smile fell for a moment, his eyes dipping to the mouth so close to his, before meeting his eyes again with a grin. 

 

“Is that a threat or promise?” He challenged. Ace nipped his lip, snaking a hand in his hair to pull. 

  
“It’s whatever you want it to be, babe.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut.

They couldn’t get back to the mansion fast enough. They went to Ace’s room, the road less travelled, but privacy guaranteed. He fiddled with the lock, cursing, until it clicked shut, leaving them completely alone. 

 

They wasted no time throwing themselves at one another, lips crashing, fingers tangling in hair, bodies pressing together. Ace wasn’t sure what it was, but he just  _ wanted.  _ They’d never done more than make out here or there. There was no reason to rush. They had all the time in the world. Not to mention, they had a lot of issues to work through within themselves before they could readily love another. Histories to finish writing before they could start the next chapter. But wherever they landed, Ace would be happy. Right now, it was the bed; the back of Guzma’s knees hit the edge and he let himself sit, dragging his lover with him, who happily obliged, straddling him with a knee on either side of his hips. Hands came to support his back so he could sit up without worry of falling back, not that he was. The heat was almost unbearable, creating a vibrating tension between them. Ace’s fingers threaded through Guzma’s hair, tugging hard until his mouth opened and he let out a soft moan. He took advantage of it, plunging his tongue into his open mouth. Hands slid up and down his back, like the boss couldn’t sit still. He tore off of his mouth, nipping at his jawline. This time, as Guzma arched his throat to him, he happily obliged, biting down and earning a satisfyingly filthy moan, sending a jolt through his body.

 

“Boss?” Came a voice, a knock on the door. Ace smirked into his neck, glancing up to see the aggravation on his lover’s face.

 

“Fuck oo _ ooooohhhFFFFF _ -!” His angry shout devolved into a moan when Ace rolled his hips down, short-circuiting any thought he had. Taking it for aggravation, the Grunt outside bolted; they heard the footsteps sprinting down the creaking floorboards. Ace chuckled against his neck. “Glad  _ you  _ are enjoying yourself,” he snapped.    
  


“Feels like you are too,” he murmured against his skin, sucking a mark into it as he ground their cocks together again to accentuate his point. Guzma groaned, sliding his hands under his shirt, over the powerful muscles of his back. He dragged himself back, as bad as he didn’t want to. They were adults. Adults with a lot of issues to work through, as much as he didn’t want to think about it. He cupped his lover’s face, kissing him swiftly. “Wait. What do you want?”

 

Guzma glared. “I’m kinda thinkin’ with my cock right now, yo.” Ace shook his head, not good enough. He sighed. “...Not all the way,” he murmured, avoiding eye contact. The admin agreed with a chase kiss; this is the farthest they’d ever gone, though not by much. The occasional grind of his hips, though playful, had been new, and were setting fire to him. 

 

“Can I suck you off?” Ace half offered, half begged, and Guzma groaned, his head falling forward onto his shoulder, his lover tilting his head to kiss his temple.

“You’re gonna kill me with shit like that,” he accused, lightly raking his nails down his back. “Fuck yeah, please, fuck.” They kissed again, first softly, but then Guzma bit his lip and Ace was done for. The short pause did little to quell their desire; he’d have to ask what they  _ put  _ in that damn pizza. He looked at the red mark on his lover’s neck and grinned toothily, licking a stripe up it. His hands snaked under his shirt, sliding it up and over his head. He sat back, admiring this new side of his lover he had yet to see. The soft planes of his stomach, the thin trail of hair dipping under the waistband of his pants, the hipbones that were too soft for his sharp personality. He licked his lips, and Guzma’s breath hitched. Maybe it came out a little more predatory than he’d intended, but he couldn’t control himself. He ducked his head, latching onto one of his nipples. He teased it with his tongue, occasionally scraping his teeth or nipping gently. He would toy with the tip of his tongue, or suck just enough to get a reaction. The moans he got were  _ filthy,  _ but he wasn’t sure who it turned on more. This was his fucking  _ shit.  _ Not with the way Guzma was grinding his hips up into his own was going to make him totally lose it. He thought he may just come here and now. He switched sides, his hand toying with the abandoned nub, rolling his hips down to meet his lover’s. His pants and groans were only goading him on. He flattened his tongue against it, pulling back to blow cool air in its place. A gentle bite and Guzma nearly unseated him with the buck of his hips, cursing loudly. 

 

He sat up again, practically drinking in the sight. The flush, the heave of his chest, the bitemarks riddling his neck, the way his eyes half-opened, unfocused and full of lust. “Fuck, G. You’re so gorgeous. I could look atcha all day,” he bit out, his hands digging into the soft lovehandles on his sides. “Goddamn perfect.” The man groaned, his hands twitching, as if trying to control himself. Curiously, he threaded his fingers in his hair, tugging his head back to look up at him, mouth falling open, panting. “Oooh, fuck. Look at you. I could fucking  _ worship  _ you _. _ ” 

 

Guzma tried to nod. “Fucckkk, please... more,” he whispered, as if it was hard to admit. Ace kissed his forehead, down to his jaw, rolling his hips at the feeling of clawing on his back. It was weird; everything felt slow, an air of uncertainty mingling with the needy desire clinging to their consciousness. Sex wasn’t unfamiliar territory to either of them, but  _ they  _ were. 

 

“More what, love?” 

 

Guzma groaned, flushing more. Possibly with embarrassment. “Shit, you really need me to spell it out, huh? You ever done this before?” Snide, but also a serious question. Ace grinned, kissing his way down his chest, making sure to stop and toy with his nipples. 

 

“You’ll be glad I have when I’m through with you,” he said with a cheeky grin. “You should see some of the shit I can do with this,” he added, cupping Guzma’s cock. He cursed.

 

“I plan on findin’ out real soon,” he growled, grinding into his boyfriend’s hand. He bit the softness of his stomach, stroking over him through the fabric of his pants. He gripped the waistband when Guzma snarled in frustration, tugging them off him, boxers included. He didn’t miss the way G seemed to shrink, like he wanted to hide, if only for a second, his knees trying to come together. Ace pressed kisses to his thigh, pressing him apart only enough that he wouldn’t get squished. He’d loosen up on his own, and  _ he  _ was not going to be the type to force him. He ran his hands up his legs like he was warming him, thumbs brushing the hipbones before sliding back down. 

“You look fuckin’ incredible, G.”

 

“Yer just sayin’ that cause you want my dick,” he accused.

 

“Added bonus,” Ace’s lips curled into a smirk, looking up at him through his lashes. “I’m just a lucky son of a gun. I wish you could see what I see. You know how hard it is to do any kind of work when I’m lookin’ at you?” He licked a stripe across the sensitive joint of his hip and thigh, relishing in the shudder that went up his body. He finally,  _ finally,  _ wrapped a hand around his cock, hard against his stomach. He swiped the precum off the tip. What could he say; he was a little prude, cum was gross. Guzma was longer than he was, probably thanks to his towering height. Guzma shivered above him, and he slid the tip of his tongue across the slit, the gentle ‘mmm’ from his throat going straight to Ace’s cock. 

 

“Uh, you can pull my hair if you want? I like it,” he said, though not looking at him. He felt the fingers thread in his hair gently at first and he leaned into it, eyes closing. Guzma seemed to get the message, not pulling right away, just scratching lightly. A sigh escaped his lips before he could even stop it. Jesus, a little affection and he was weak. Yikes. Maybe he had worse problems than he thought.

 

Finally, he tilted his head to kiss the hand that slid down to cup his cheek, and they slid back to his hair. He returned his attention to the cock he’d been slowly stroking in their little moment. It hit closer to home than he would’ve liked. He slid his tongue up from the base to tip, teasing the sensitive nerve at the head. His hands planted on Guzma’s thighs to prevent him from bucking into his mouth; a little flex of control on top of actually saving himself from gagging. He pushed his lips past the head, and Guzma’s sigh felt like a sigh of relief. He whispered his name, like a prayer, and it just encouraged him further. If he could imprint this memory forever, he’d be happy. Flattening his tongue against the underside of his cock, he let himself get lost in his work. He never takes him all the way, but he goes as far as he can without gagging, and covers the rest with his hand, working the two in tandem. Guzma is vocal above him, and it’s making his cock  _ ache  _ because fuck, it’s sexy, and it’s  _ Guzma,  _ and he’s wanted it so long and he didn’t know he did until he was there. He sucks a bit whenever he pulls up to the head, and his lover trembles, fingers clutching tight into his hair that made him hungry for more. 

 

Suddenly, Guzma grips his hair tight. “Oh, fuck, Ace- I’m gon- na….hnnnn….” He was trying, bless his heart, to warn him. He appreciated it, giving one last suck at the head to tip him over the edge, using his hand to finish him off as cum shot onto his bare stomach. He bucked into his hands, groaning continuously, like he couldn’t stop. Finally, finally, the rigid muscles of his back relaxed, and he weakly tapped Ace’s hand away, who let go with one last stroke. Guzma opened his eyes, blearily catching his lover’s gaze, and jerked his head back. Ace crawled over him, straddling him as he laid back in post-orgasm haze, dragging him down to kiss him lazily. Hands ran down the planes of Ace’s stomach, brushing his hipbones, back up to his chest. It was nice, minus the painful reminder of his erection. Finally, Guzma got his senses about him and grabbed his hips, flipping them so he was on top. Fuck. He could  _ definitely  _ get used to the sight of his lover straddling his lap.

 

“My turn,” he purred, a toothy grin that promised misbehavior. At that image, he may not have to, Ace thought. 

“Who gave you the right to be so sexy?” He half-growled, but without venom. Guzma’s smirk widened, tonguing a canine like a fang as he ripped Ace’s shirt off of him. He attacked his neck, and Ace gripped his love-handles, soft and perfect for grabbing. He can feel the dark marks being planted on his neck, possibly payback for the multitude on  _ his  _ neck, possibly because he was feeling possessive, possibly because he was secretly a vampire. All three were good in his book, as long as he kept doing it. A bite on his collarbone made him gasp, mouth flying open. Guzma took it as an opportunity to kiss him, aggressive and hot and everything he wanted. Ace could die here and be happy.

 

A hand snaking into his pants defied that thought, palming him with a slightly colder hand, adding on to the sensation. His head fell back on the pillow, eyes closing. Shit, he may not even last; though he hadn’t been touched, Guzma’s vocalizations had kept him painfully hard. Now Guzma ducked between his legs, a much more desperate ferocity to his movements as he tugged his clothing off. Ace forced himself to look down just as his lover grinned up wickedly, wasting no time in swallowing down as much of his cock as he could. Van Gogh couldn’t dream of painting a prettier picture. 

 

“Holy f _ uck,  _ G,” he breathed as Guzma bobbed his head. “You’re,  _ hhhhfff-  _ you’re so good to me.” A tease at his head and he clutched the sheets needily. He couldn’t form words for a while, just letting out soft curses and moans.  “I want the  _ world  _ to know how good you are to me.” Yeah, he was babbling, but apparently it was doing something for his lover, who purred around his cock and made him nearly jump out of his skin. “You’re so pretty, I just want you to  _ ruin me.” _

 

After being on edge so long, it wasn’t long before he felt the muscles in his stomach tighten, the heat pooling deliciously. He could barely form a thought, whimpering when Guzma flicked his tongue against the sensitive nerve under the head. “I could fuck that pretty face of yours,  _ fuck. _ ” He threaded his fingers into his silvery-white hair, tugging gently. “I wanna see you ride me. Fuck you till you can’t sit down without thinkin’ of me.” Guzma groaned around his cock, sending sweet vibrations straight through his core.

 

“Guzma, fuck, Guzma, I’m gonna come, please, I-” he cut off to groan, eyes screwing shut and panting heavily. Unlike himself, Guzma kept his mouth around his head, his hands jerking him off fast until he was crying out his name, coming hard into his mouth. 

When he can finally breathe again, he tugs Guzma’s hair gently until he gets the message and crawls up his body where they can kiss. It’s soft, it’s tired, it’s full of emotions that make a vice tighten around his chest. It tastes of the familiarity that is Guzma, a tang of salt, and a hint of something he can only guess is himself. Weird. He tilts his head, deepens the kiss like he’s starving, and Guzma is his only hope for survival. He scratches the short black of his hair gently, trying to ignore how close to reality that is. He wanted to lose himself in the peace that afterglow with his lover provided. The slow movement of lips on his, the feeling of Guzma lying on top of him, a steady but comfortable weight, arms sliding between the small of his back and the bed to cradle him closely. He opens his eyes when Guzma breaks off slightly, lips still barely touching. The sun had started to set, shrouding his lover in an orange glow like fire, though his eyes kept that same color like white mist. This close, he could see the streaks and speckles of gray that made them appear to darken like storm clouds when he angered. His pupils were still dilated, giving him a look of innocence under the half-lidded expression. 

  
He kisses him again, and again, unable to contain himself. They say nothing, yet. They just kiss, and then it turns into kissing for hours, legs slotted together, hands roaming as their lips moved lazily. Still they do not speak. Eventually, they fall asleep together, cuddled in close, Guzma’s face buried in his neck, Ace’s head turned so his lips are against his temple.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trauma inflicts terrible problems on the mind; Ace fights memory issues by taking a moment.

He wakes up some time later. He doesn’t know the time, but it’s still dark outside. Guzma’s a few inches away from him, though his hand is on Ace’s chest. He watches him, watches the steady breathing raise and lower his chest, memorizes the expression on his face, finally at peace with the cruel world. He pressed a feather-light kiss to his forehead, sliding out of bed, pulling on a pair of pants - possibly Guzma’s - then walking over to open the door leading out of his room onto a balcony. He rarely used it, but tonight, he needed to breathe for a moment. Needed to sit and process the past day so he could keep it in his memory forever. He leaned against the railing, looking across the water that reflected the moon above, still so bright even if it was barely half full. 

 

He sighed heavily, letting his shoulders drop. It was hard to believe he was here, right now, in Alola, with a man sleeping in his bed only feet away. He closed his eyes, made himself feel the warm, but not hot, Alolan sea-breeze, carrying him farther away from Johto, from his childhood. He took the images of Guzma, tried to focus on them. Guzma, pizza in his hands, a speck of sauce on the side of his mouth, his laugh mingling with the cries of Wingulls. Guzma, boredly rifling through tank tops, his body slouched as usual, his hip cocked so he could put all his weight on one leg, the other resting up on the toe. Guzma, pressed against the door, their breath hot against each other’s lips, claws down his back, something feeling like caffeine surging through his veins. Guzma’s eyes when Ace looked up from his spot on the floor, his lips on his skin,  _ everywhere,  _ fulfilling countless nights of fantasies. Guzma, lying on top of him, his weight heavy but not uncomfortable, burning against his skin like a delicious furnace, their lips moving perfectly together, fingers in soft but thick hair, hands roaming his body, the only sound being Zubats in the night and their breathing.

 

He opened his eyes when a pair of arms slid around his waist. He sighed at the kiss between his shoulder blades, at the body that melted completely against him, placing his hands over the purple ink around his waist. They stand quietly for a bit. Ace considers that Guzma deserves someone better. Someone who isn’t broken, who can offer themselves as a whole with no hangups, no bumps in the road. He decides he’s going to let himself be selfish, scratching his nails very gently, feeling the hair move underneath them. He likes the way his lover slots perfectly against him, the way he presses his face to the back of his neck and inhales deeply. It’s a comfort that leaves a warm feeling in his heart, like maybe the cracks are mending, very slowly, but they are. It’s with reluctance, but he shifts away from Guzma, only enough to turn around in his arms, that link around his waist. He raises his arms, a hand cupping either side of his head, thumbs on the black sideburns, fingers curling towards the back of his head. He stared into the hazy white that matches the moon tonight. 

 

“You look gorgeous.” The other man sneered a bit, as if he can’t believe it.

 

“You can stop,” Guzma finally murmured, breaking the silence of  _ hours,  _ voice a little hoarse from lack of use and sleep. It made his heart stop. “I know most of it was just to get in my pants, but was that part true? About… ya know, me bein’ good to ya?” He looked a little off to the side, maybe to the water. 

 

“G…” It hurts him, to think that his lover figures that he’ll only be praised if he’d get something out of it. The man doesn’t look at him for a bit, but Ace waits until he does before he speaks. “I know it’s hard to believe it, but I mean every word.” He stroked his thumbs along his cheekbones, then back to their original position. “You’re my whole world.” He seeks out his eyes, tries to show that he  _ means  _ it. “You’re my everything. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

 

“I’m not a good person,” Guzma replied, cocking his head a degree.

 

“I don’t think I am, either. But I need you. And I want you. You’re so fuckin’ good to me. Everywhere you go, I just want to be at your side. Being with you is the only way I want to spend my days. You’re my world. My life. Are you getting it, yet?” He stroked his fingers down towards his neck, scratched lightly. He looked at the moonlight illuminating his lover’s face. He looked into that same unreadable expression, like he’s still trying to figure him out. Good. “I love you.” Now that he finally, finally says it, it's like he can't stop. “Guzma, I love you. I love everything about you.  _ Everything _ you are. I love you.” 

 

Guzma’s face contorted a bit, and suddenly he’s crushed to the taller man’s chest. He let his arms move around his neck, embracing him tightly. “I love you,” he breathed again. 

 

“I love you,” Guzma echoed into his ear, his voice wavering, but not uncertain. He drew back, cupping Ace’s face. “I love you so goddamn much.” He dragged him in for a kiss he was happy to oblige. It’s emotionally charged, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry, or scream, or explode. When they separate, the boss looks like he was fighting the tears that made his eyes shine in the dark. “Fuck....” 

 

Ace said nothing, now, just laid his head against the man’s chest, closed his eyes to take in the thudding of the heartbeat under his ear. It was a little fast, but it was strong. Guzma embraced him tightly, wrapping him in warmth and the smell that was purely him. He tried to stay perfectly still, inscribing the moment in stone, locking it deep in his heart. He pressed a kiss over his heart, onto the fabric of the T-shirt covering it. 

 

“...I like you in my clothes,” Guzma admits, and Ace feels it more than he hears it, the vibration rumbling in the chest under him. It was only his pants, but...

  
“‘Mm keepin’ em.” Guzma laughed at that. He tried to respond more, but he was content, warm, sleepy. His lover gently pried him off, laughed a bit at the whiny protest that tore from his throat, guided him to the bed. They curled in under the blankets together, snuggled in tightly, Ace’s face buried in his neck, brushing ghosted kisses on the skin, felt like purring at the gentle nails dragging up and down his back, not harshly, just a need to touch. They fell asleep like that, intertwined and content.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dissociation and alcohol are always the answer.

 

The thing about admitting your feelings to someone is that it didn’t fix you. It wasn’t like the movies, where a black and white world filled with color, bouncy music played, and deep, dark secrets that tore you up in the middle of the night didn’t go away. The demons didn’t get quieter. The pain didn’t quell. 

 

Ace took another swig of vodka, the bottle sloshing loudly in his ears. The sun was hot, beating down, trying so hard to burn his skin but never succeeding. He barely registered the grunts wandering around town underneath him. He was sitting in the same spot he found Guzma the night he was initiated as an Admin, on the roof overhang from the second floor. He couldn’t really say how long he’d been drinking. He wasn’t as slishy-sloshy as the liquid in the bottle, but he wasn’t sober. When was the last time he’d drank?

 

He tried to catch the thoughts floating around in his head. Why was he out here again? How did he get here? Whose bottle was this? Whose hand? Fuck.

 

It started with his laptop. He’d found it in his closet in a bag, stuffed in the back. He had thrown his phone into the ocean the day Guzma gave him a new one, trying to cut ties with the far-off island that was still too close. He blinked, trying to focus. Where was he again? ...Was this Johto still? That didn’t sound right. 

 

He’d thrown it on the desk, ignoring its looming presence for a while. Finally, he decided he’d go through it, make sure there weren’t any important documents or photos of Jolteon or Sandshrew he wanted to keep. It booted up slowly, dredging up old memories, preparing to wound him like a Persian crouching to pounce. Finally, his background loaded, a photo of the old forest he used to frequent. His breath had stopped at that point, and he felt like he was drowning, water filling his lungs, surrounding his body, putting out the fire burning in his soul. Before he could gather the courage to click anything, the apps had started to boot up, and a message popped up.

 

**[2:16 PM] xxxxxx: ACE!!!!**

**[2:16 PM] xxxxxx: WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!?!?!**

**[2:16 PM] xxxxxx: YOU HAVENT ANSWERED ANY OF OUR CALLS**

**[2:16 PM] xxxxxx: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING JUST RUNNING OFF LIKE THIS**

**[2:16 PM] xxxxxx: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?**

**[2:16 PM] xxxxxx: ANSWER ME!!! I KNOW YOU ARE THERE**

**[2:16 PM] xxxxxx: YOU NEED TO COME HOME** **NOW** **!!!!!!**

 

It was like he couldn’t move his body. His mother must have gotten a notification that he had “logged on.” She was still typing, but before he could even finish reading, he felt the effects of panic taking over. Could she see him through the webcam? Could she track his location through the laptop? Could she already be planning to take him back home? 

 

Before he could even register what was happening, his legs were moving, sprinting out of the room, the computer  _ ‘ping’ _ ing behind him. Steel bands tightened around his chest, his blood turning to lead, tears like acid burning his eyes. No, no no no no. Please, no. He couldn’t go back there. Not again. He found himself in an empty room, knocking over three bottles on the shelf before he could grab one, unscrewing it and gulping until the burn almost made him vomit. He pulled the bottle away from his lips, gasping for air, a few stray tears falling down his cheeks. He scrambled from the room, looking for an escape. He found his way onto the overhang, dropping to his knees, dizzy and uncertain if he was going to throw up or not.

 

Now that the alcohol had started to replace the lead of his blood, he had settled more normally, legs hanging over the edge. The steel bands still constricted his chest, but he was filled with a calmness that he wasn’t quite sure if it was from the alcohol or straight dissociation. He wasn’t in the state of mind to decide, he figured, opening his throat to down as much alcohol as he could in the next drink. He was dizzy. It was nice to feel something. Somewhere in his mind, something said he needed to stop drinking, or soon he’d throw up. Luckily, he wasn’t nauseous yet. Blackout drunk was right around the corner. Was that a problem anymore? Wasn’t that the goal? … Whoa. His head was  _ swimming.  _ The world was swimming, and he was drowning, down into the black depths of the ocean. He heard something, far away, muffled by the water in his ears. It got louder, but it couldn’t break the water veil.

 

“... _ ACE!  _ You ignorin’ me now? What the fuck?” Distantly, he registered someone speaking, but the words didn’t process in his fuzzy brain. He looked down at the bottle in his hands, confused. 

Suddenly, there was someone standing beside him. Looming. Scary. His memory supplied large, looming, scary as his father, and he flinched so hard he nearly dropped the bottle, refusing to raise his eyes. He wouldn’t hit as hard if he didn’t make eye contact. The figure knelt beside him. That was new.

 

“Is that alcohol? You don’t drink,” came the voice again, and his hands trembled. Had he taken from his father’s stash under the counter? Had he fucked up that badly? 

 

A hand on his face, but it was gentle. That wasn’t right. No, no. No, no, no, no, no. Please. Just leave. “Whoa. Have you been crying?” Ace shook his head, though his cheeks were streaked with wetness. Had he been? He hadn’t felt it. But he also hadn’t felt anything for the past… 

 

...

…

…

“Yo, that’s enough,” it spoke again. The bottle disappeared from his hands, and he leaned forward slightly to see if he dropped it over the edge, but a strong hand plastered itself to his chest, holding him back. “Whoa, no fallin’ off on me now.” 

 

Finally, he looked over at the crouched figure, avoiding his face. It took a long, long time to focus. He caught a glimpse of purple, and he tried to look at just that. It finally morphed itself into a stylized S, then a skull. He looked at the gold, the gold chain, the black and white swirling in his vision. “Yo, you there? You with me?” He looked up when a hand caught his chin, tilting him up to look into a face. He thought. Finally he blinked a few times, narrowed his eyes, trying to get it to take shape. He just couldn’t place it. His brain felt so far away. He felt like he was on another planet, so far. “Ace, hey, c’mon. Answer me. It’s your boy. It’s Guzma. Hello?” 

 

Guzma. Who? Guzma. That’s important. That’s very important. It tasted like… he couldn’t place it. Felt like flying. Like the sun. Like freedom. Guzma. His boyfriend. That was it. Boyfriend. They were dating. Ace felt his body scoff. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t know how to love. He’d just end up hurting him. Finally, he reached a hand out, trying to stabilize when the world spun, and another hand took his. “Guzma?”

 

“Yeah, that’s it. It’s me. C’mon, get away from that ledge, yer scarin’ the shit outta me.” Would he die if he fell off? Maybe it would solve all of his problems. He looked back to the ledge, felt himself get hoisted to his legs. He shifted, like he wanted to creep closer to the ledge, but something locked him in place. He looked down at the arms around his waist. He felt himself be dragged inside, only because he was too drunk to fight it. Suddenly he was on a bed, sitting up. He looked around, saw Guzma.  _ Hi. I love you.  _ He was putting the bottle back.  _ Nooo. I need that.  _ “Shit, how much did you  _ drink? _ How are you not dead yet?” He heard a curse, flinched at that.  _ No. Don’t be angry. Please. Don’t hit. Just go back to your TV.  _ There was suddenly weight on his shoulders, a dip in the bed beside him. Guzma was there. How was he so fast? Shit.

 

“Where are you, Ace?” He asked, and Ace stared at him blankly. He sighed, trying again. “Aight, look at me. I’m Guzma. You’re Ace. Right?” Another blank stare, a hiccup. Oh god, that felt weird. Suddenly, he felt something different. This was nice. He liked this. Guzma was kissing him. He drew back, and Ace keened. He wanted that more. “Ace. Who am I?”

 

“Guzma.” He felt his fingers. 

 

“Where are you?”

 

“I… I’m not sure.”

 

“You’re in Alola. In my room.” He looked around. He was. This was Guzma’s bedroom. He felt his toes, his feet. He felt the hands on his forearms, bracing. “Well?”

 

“I’m in your room. On your bed.” 

 

“Good. You with me now? You back on our planet?”

 

Ace looked at him, felt his torso, including the vice-bands around it. He tried to draw in a breath, but the painful burn made him groan it back out. “I… I think so.” Was he slurring? Probably. He couldn’t tell. He was too drunk for this. He shook his head, but the room spun. “Can we kiss again?” He liked that. Wanted that back. Guzma hesitated, but obliged, cupping the back of his neck, controlling him completely. He liked this oh god he liked this. He chased Guzma when he pulled back, but a hand on his chest stopped him. 

 

“You’re drunk as  _ shit,  _ babe. Why don’t you nap it off?” He didn’t want to. He wanted to kiss him more. It made him feel secure. Alive. Free. Guzma was pulling his shoes off for him, and he threaded a hand through the silvery-white cloud of hair. He scratched lightly, reveling in the feeling of it. His boyfriend stood up, towering over him. He complied when he was moved, shuffling under the covers and shamelessly burying his nose in the pillow that smelled deliciously familiar and cozy. 

 

“Will you stay?” He tried to say that, anyway. He wasn’t sure what came out, but luckily it was enough.

 

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Don’t need you choking or some shit.” 

  
He didn’t remember much else after that. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering from trauma is a monster, but they're willing to take it on if it means having a healthy and normal relationship.

When Ace woke up, his brain felt like it was going to melt through his ears. He groaned, a hand clamping to his head. Ow. 

 

“Mornin’, sunshine. How ya feelin’?” A smug voice from behind him. He growled something in response, unable to form a word. He flipped over, facing away from the wall to Guzma who had been lying at his back. He grinned, earning a spiteful glare from Ace. It just made him laugh, but he stood up and walked towards the dresser, pulling out a bottle. He grabbed a half-finished bottle of water, knocking out two pills and bringing them over to his boyfriend, who sat up. “This always gets me back off my ass.”

 

“Thankssszzz.” Slurred from pain this time. He threw his head back with the pills, chasing it with water, nearly guzzling the whole thing in one shot. They sat in silence for a while, until the pills started kicking in. The grimace on his face slowly relaxed. He looked over to the alcohol shelf, spotted the nearly empty bottle of vodka. “Holy fuck.”

 

“Yeah,” Guzma agreed unhappily. “And don’t think just cause we’re datin’ and all don’t mean you ain’t gonna replace it, either.” Ace looked at him, rolling his eyes. “Especially since I had to take care of your drunk ass all night.”

 

_ All night? _ Without windows in this room, he couldn’t tell what time it was. He reached for Guzma’s hand, linking their fingers while he read his gold watch. Nearly 4 in the morning. Way too early to be awake, but he’d slept almost twelve hours. Just enough time for the drunkenness to wear off and the hangover to take over.  _ Awesome.  _ “I’ll make it up to you somehow,” he replied, running a thumb over the back of his hand. Guzma smirked. 

 

“I’ll remember that. You wanna sleep more? Too fuckin’ early to be up like this.”

 

“I’ll brush my teeth first, so I don’t smell like straight vodka.”

 

“What a fuckin’ gentleman.”

 

Ace smiled weakly, leaving the room. He glanced to his right, down the hallway where his door was open and a light illuminated the wall across. He tried to steady his breathing; he’d deal with that tomorrow. Er, later. Or never sounded good, too. Instead, he turned to the left. No way he was going to his bathroom, having to walk past that thing. He went to Guzma’s bathroom, flicking on the light. He cringed when he looked at himself; skin blotchy from alcohol and crying, eyes totally sunken in and darker than Guzma’s. His lips were chapped and dry. He just looked  _ sick.  _ Great. He lifted the toilet lid, letting himself throw up the acid and nausea in his stomach. It made him feel better already. He leaned close to the faucet, tilting his head so he could let the refreshingly cold water stream into his mouth. He took a few gulps, like an animal, but he was thirsty and didn’t want to make it all worse later. He grabbed the plastic blue toothbrush - his “spare” - and methodically brushed the disgusting away. He didn’t deserve Guzma, really. He spat the frothy paste away, looking himself in the eyes through the mirror. The man was too good to him. He swished water in his mouth, cool mint replacing vodka and death. He’d make it up to him, somehow. He turned away, unable to look at himself anymore, and flicked the light off. 

 

Back in the room, Guzma was lying on his back, half dozing. Ace crawled in beside him, hooking a leg over his, throwing an arm over his stomach, placing his head on the broad chest. He sighed as an arm came down around his shoulders, a kiss on top of his head. He wouldn’t have expected Guzma to be the sweet type, but they were both so goddamned starved for affection that he wasn’t shocked. 

 

“You wanna talk now or later?”   
  


“Later,” Ace whispered. With that, he let the rhythmic rise and fall of his love’s chest lull him to sleep.

 

He hated sleeping in Guzma’s room for one reason; no windows. He couldn’t tell what time it was when he woke up. He stirred, still in the same position as when they slept. It was… nice. Like a gentle reminder of a dreamless, unagitated sleep. He glanced up, saw Guzma already awake, staring at the ceiling. He pressed a kiss over his heart, making him look down.

 

“First of all, I love you. Thank you for taking care of me all night.” Guzma shrugged, waiting. He was going to let him ask, but they both knew he needed to talk. So he gulped in a breath, preparing himself. “I found my old laptop yesterday. I wanted to see if there was anything I needed to save. Looking back, it’s stupid. I’ve been here almost a year and haven’t needed it. Why would I need it now?” He sighed heavily. Nothing to be sentimental about when the only things that mattered were the pokemon partners he already had, resting comfortably in their pokeballs. “It booted up some messenger I used to use, and my mother messaged me.”

 

“Aw, shit.”

 

“...Yeah. I don’t know. I just… looking back, I think I dissociated completely. I didn’t know what I was doing until we were on your bed. I can’t believe I drank.  _ That much.”  _ Fingers started scratching through the stripes in his hair. He’d have to get touched up soon. The soothing touch could lull him to sleep. He purred softly in contentment. But he wasn’t done. “...I guess I never really told you. I’ve just been trying to forget, you know?”

 

“Yeah.”  
  
“Yeah,” he echoed. “Fuck. It’s like, I can’t even muster the courage to say something, because I don’t _feel_ like it’s bad enough? Like… They ignored me. Usually. It was like I didn’t exist. Sometimes they didn’t even feed me, really. But when they _did_ know I was there, it was usually to yell at me, or beat me, or something. Dad too mad at the game on TV and needed to let it out. Or drank too much and had too much energy to pass out first. It’s kinda why I don’t drink, I don’t wanna turn into him. Or I would walk by the kitchen when Mom was cooking and she thought I was trying to ‘steal food,’ so she'd ‘teach me a lesson.’ It’s... I dunno. I was generally ignored unless they needed something done in the house. Too damn lazy to do it themselves. Otherwise, I pretty much _lived_ in the woods near my house. That’s where everything was. Where I met Jolteon. He was Eevee back then, though.” A tiny smile, but it was humorless. It fell quickly. “I just… I can’t convince myself it _was_ abuse, that it fucked me up, you know? Like, everyone else in the gang, even you, they usually got a history of that shit, and I think I just tell myself that mine wasn’t as bad as theirs, so it’s not like, valid?” Saying it all out loud made it sound silly, but he’d never learned how to rationally approach it, since he only had the memories and emotions to meddle in that and no formal help to cope.

 

“I think I’m still scared that one day, they’re gonna find me here, and take me back, and I’ll be trapped there again, and I’ll never be free. I can’t lose this. I can’t lose you. I can’t go back there. And I’m terrified that that’s exactly what will happen.”

 

Guzma’s other arm was around him now too, cradling him like a shield. Ace had nothing more to say; he had never had to talk about it before, so he wasn’t exactly prepared to give a slideshow on his feelings and therapy and shit. He was just a boy with a bad history that had no transition to normal life except running away. He hated feeling weak like this. Reopening the scars, chipping at the cracks. But it was Guzma. His beloved, wonderful, trustworthy Guzma, who could understand, who could relate.  

 

“Thanks for tellin’ me. I’m gonna do whatever it takes ta help you. Okay?” Ace nodded, unable to form anymore words.”They aren’t gonna take you from me, not unless it’s from my cold, dead hands. Ain’t no one in the world takin’ you from me. We got somethin’ good goin’ on here, you and me. I’ll be damned if someone tries to fuck that up.” It was nice to hear it, to have actual words from the man himself that he was happy, that Ace was doing  _ something  _ right. “I love you. Can’t say I ever felt that before either, but I’m tryin’ for ya. We can learn how to do that shit together.” 

 

Ace was pretty sure he was going to cry. Or, he may already have been, cradled to the chest of a man who genuinely, really, truly loved him, and didn’t run in terror or disgust when he talked about the darker sides of himself. He gripped the fabric of the t-shirt under his hand, turning to bury his face completely. Fuck it, he’d let himself cry. Usually, he’d bury it or dissociate, but he had to try. For Guzma.

 

It was always for Guzma.

 

He let himself cry for a while, for himself, for Guzma, for the terrible hands life had drawn for them. Wrong turn after wrong turn, but it landed him here, and it was overwhelming. He let himself cry out the fear that Guzma would be unreal, or disappear, or what have you. All the while, Guzma kissed the top of his head, the arms cradling him sometimes moving to stroke his back. Ace decided, maybe he was a villain after all, being greedy and selfish enough to keep Guzma from finding someone else, someone healthy, someone less mentally fucked. 

 

Finally, he let out a shuddering breath, trying to collect himself. He opened his mouth to apologize, but instead a “Thanks” came out. He’d figure out why later.

 

“Hey, c’mon. What kind of boyfriend would I be otherwise? Gimme  _ some _ credit!” It made Ace chuckle weakly, and some of the tension relieved. Neither were  _ great  _ with emotions, especially the ones tied to pieces of them they tried to bury. 

 

“You’re the best boyfriend in the world and I love you. Better?” Ew. That word again.

 

“That’s more like it.” 

 

“What time is it?” 

 

Guzma moved above him, checking his watch. “Almost ten.” He was a little surprised. That was when they usually got up anyway, preferring to work late into the night and sleep in the day. They’d nap later, Ace decided. Today was about laziness. He was too emotionally exhausted to do anything else. Guzma’s stomach growled audibly. “You tryna starve me to death?” 

 

“I dunno what you’re talking about. I’m fine,” Ace grinned, biting down on whatever flesh was available to him. Guzma yelped, but it only encouraged him to attack further, playbiting wherever he could, propping himself up on his elbows for further reach, resisting the hands trying to push him off. 

 

A day later, recharged from an entire day of snuggling and lazy kissing, Ace had the strength to face the laptop. Well, the strength to let Guzma do it. He sat on Ace’s bedroom floor, letting out a low whistle at the stream of messages. “Yer mom’s a fuckin’ psycho.” 

“Call the presses,” Ace mused from his bed, his arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Jolteon was curled up in his lap, snoozing. Guzma fell silent, closing the window, signing out of the messenger. He clicked around a bit, and Ace would occasionally glance over, but generally kept his eyes on the ceiling. Sometimes G would ask about something; a picture of a pokemon not native to Alola, or would tease him for a crude drawing or picture of himself as a child. But in the end, he stayed mostly silent, cruising for photos of Jolteon, especially pre-evolution, or Sandshrew. A few times, he’d ask about a photo, but Ace would shake his head and insist it wasn’t  _ his  _ Eevee. Guzma would grumble about how he was able to tell the difference, but he’d just grin it off. He knew his boy, down to a single fur. There were a few, and he had Guzma send them to his phone, who’d then forward it to Ace. He was grateful for the precautions against his paranoia, that maybe his parents would trace his new phone. It didn’t take more than an hour, but Guzma finally sent the handful of photos that mattered over. Everything else, he’d live without. Especially being in Alola now, he didn’t need his little bout of research on the woods around his childhood house. 

 

Guzma left with the laptop, giving it to a Grunt with strict orders to destroy all of it. Sick his pokemon on it. Tear it to shreds. Whatever it took. He came back quickly, kneeling beside the bed. Ace turned his head to look at him, used a hand to stroke through his hair. The boss raised a brow at him. “Thank you. You’re wonderful,” Ace murmured, watched his eyes slip closed. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace is reminded what being an Admin entails.

Ace wakes up before his eyes open. He feels the warmth of the sun, registers the sound of Wingulls. Eventually he opens his eyes, squinting immediately at the bright sunlight. Had he fallen asleep? Oops. He figured it was because he was just comfortable and relaxed enough. He lifted his head, glancing around. Alan and Bryan were in the water, splashing each other childishly. That’s right, he and Guzma had joined them for a day off. He tore his gaze from the happy couple, searching for his own other half. 

 

His breath caught in his throat. Guzma was further off in the sand, and was squatting as usual. Running towards him, fangs bared, was Growlithe. He’d been sleeping at Ace’s side, had Guzma gotten too close? Shit, he should’ve kept him in the ball. He started to get up, but stopped short. Growlithe lunged for the boss, but he jumped up, revealing the stick it had sunk its teeth into. He was… laughing. They were playing Tug, though with one particularly vicious shake of his head, Growlithe ripped it from his hands. 

 

Growlithe never played with anyone but Ace. It snarled and snapped at anyone who came close. It had trust issues. It was  _ frightened  _ of Guzma; maybe the scent reminded it of its old owner. And yet, here they were. Guzma dropped to his knees, and Growlithe padded over, albeit a little slowly. Finally close enough, he petted it until it flipped over, looking for belly scratches. 

 

He thought back to a few months ago. He’d been sitting at Guzma’s side, scrolling through his phone. His lover had reached out, running his fingers through his hair, nothing more. A low growl had caught their attention; they looked to see Growlithe crouched, fangs bared, eyes honed in on the skull boss. They froze, uncertain, and when Guzma moved again, placing a hand on Ace’s arm, he nearly lunged. Only a stern shout from its trainer stopped it, but it sulked in the corner, glowering the rest of the time. Later, at night, Ace had whispered gently to his pokemon, asking it to give him a chance, and that if he loved him, shouldn’t the fire dog try too?

 

Now, to see it offering its trust so wholly, it made his heart skip. Had Guzma been working with him? Or was Growlithe putting in the effort to like the man his trainer loved? At the end of the day, did it matter? To see his beloved Pokemon now, a totally different creature than it had been months ago, chained to a tree, completely neglected, it warmed him to the core. He scrambled to his feet, jogging over to them. The duo looked up in tandem, both with puppyish grins on their faces. He tackled them both in a hug, rolling in the sand, covering whatever skin and fur he could reach with kisses. He’s filled with pride. 

  
  
  


Ace is in trouble.

 

He knows he’s in trouble, because Guzma comes through the door, and the first thing out of his mouth is, “Babe?” 

 

That in itself isn’t intimidating, Guzma calls Ace babe all the time. But when he comes home and uses ‘babe’ to find him, it means something is wrong, or he needs to fix something, or his lover needs stress relief and  _ stat _ . 

 

Now, he knows he’s in trouble, because the whole town is abuzz with the day’s events. He’s got his eyes closed, the cut above his eye is having a hard time clotting and keeps bleeding, blinding his left eye. He’s lying on the bed, hands folded on his chest, ankles crossed, perfectly still, awaiting the hurricane.

 

_ Guzma’s phone is buzzing. Two short, then one long. Ace lifts his head from Jolteon, trying to pinpoint its location. Guzma is out, must’ve forgotten his phone. He eases his way to his feet, finds it on the counter. He misses the call, but it buzzes again. The number isn’t saved, but then again, they didn’t need to save them. Wasn’t hard to get ahold of the Grunt you wanted when you were on top. He presses the green circle. _

 

_ “Ace.” _

 

_ “YO, YOU GOTTA HELP US MAN!” A strained yell, pained screaming in the background. He’s trying to compose himself, whoever is on the other side. He can’t recognize them through the strain. _

 

_ “Where are you?” His heart is in his throat. The worst scenarios are playing in his mind. Adrenaline is already taking over his blood, preparing him to act.  _

 

_ The grunt struggles to tell him, but he gets the gist and he’s off. He tries to keep them on the line, but they can barely respond, and soon it’s silent on the other end. _

 

_ Ace has felt fear. He’s never felt terror. It’s new, it’s panic when he was trying to think. He doesn’t remember how he got the Ride Pager, how the Tauros got there. But he finally finds the cave, calling out to them. He hears a faint sound and sprints, finally screeches to a halt when he sees the pile of rocks. He sees the phone lying off to the side, as if dropped. There are a handful of Pokemon, lying unconscious on the ground. But his priority is within the rocks. He calls forth Sandshrew.  _

 

_ “Sandshrew! Help me! Rock smash, we need to get them out!” Sandshrew nods, charging forth to crack the rocks with his hard skull. Meanwhile, Ace starts heaving what rocks he can to the side, enduring chips and stones piercing his skin and hurtling at a bruising speed, all debris from Sandshrew. The pain was dull, faraway, letting him block it out as he tried to reach his team. _

 

_ The first thing he saw was the emblem. He called Sandshrew to hit the rock surrounding him so he could move them in more manageable pieces. Finally, he was able to drag the grunt out, completely unconscious. He laid him to the side, digging for the second. An extremely large crack broke one of the stones, followed by Sandshrew keening. He scrambled to the other side, helping it dig through until an arm was revealed. It gripped his hand and he kept digging, relief flooding his face when the grunt surfaced, gasping for air, covered in sweat and dirt and blood. He pulled him into his body, heaving for breath, too in shock to cry in relief. The grunt was sobbing, in pain, in relief, clutching the Admin’s back with one arm, the other dangling limply at his side. Ace drew back, checking him over. Damaged, broken, but alive. Both of them.  _

 

_ “Aether attacked us, you know? They just came outta nowhere while we were walkin’, yo. They beat all our Pokemon, but they didn’t stop, yo. They used Rock Tomb on us, man.” Tears welled in his eyes. “We were suffocating. We were bein’ crushed. I thought I was gonna die in there. That  _ we _ were gonna die in there.”  _

 

_ He’d used a revive on each of the Pokemon, to keep them from dying on him, and took the boys to the hospital. Hours later, they were all home, the grunts stitched, casted, and resting.  _

 

Now, his muscles ached, he had unattended wounds that he’d been too worried about his boys to get fixed. Guzma slammed the door open, rattling his headache. 

 

“What the fuck, yo?” He looked pissed. “Why didn’t you call me?”

 

“You left your phone here.” He pointed to the dresser, where his phone was sitting. 

 

“You could've texted Plumeria, or a Grunt, or  _ something!”  _

 

“G,” he finally sighed, completely out of energy. “Please. There wasn’t any time. I panicked, okay? I’m sorry.” He didn’t have to see Guzma to know he was trying to read him. He heard him sigh, felt the tension leave his body from the door. He finally cracked an eye open when the man loomed over him, even with his slouch. 

 

“...You look like shit.”

 

“Sweet-talker.”

 

A smirk. “Why don’t you take a bath?”

 

“Too tired.” It wasn’t necessarily tired. It was exhaustion. Fatigue. Adrenaline and hard physical labor of moving literal Rock Tombs without relent. 

“I’ll help ya,” his lover offered, quietly. He almost rejected it immediately, but stopped himself. There was no reason. It was just… Scary. Too vulnerable. If you asked him why, he couldn’t tell you. He decided to decline politely.

 

“Okay.” Excellent job, Ace. A round of applause. The world’s greatest rejection. 

 

He groaned louder than his muscles did when he stood, pain overwhelming his body until he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. His lover helped him, looping an arm around his waist, helping him to sit on the toilet lid while he drew the hot water. He watched him work, studied the sweat-dried locks on his forehead, the way it had frizzed with the salt of sweat. He had a deep frown that made the dark rings around his eyes look darker. Feeling the eyes on him, he turned to look at his Admin, who kept his gaze steady. A light flush rose to his cheeks.

 

“Ya gonna stare all day or ya gonna strip?” It would’ve been sexy in any other situation. Now, it was sexy as fuck, but he was too sore and wounded to do anything about it. 

 

“If if means looking at you, staring.” Guzma’s eyes rolled, his blush darkening. Ace smirked tiredly at that. 

 

“Gotta do  _ everything  _ around here,” his partner grumbled, crouching in front of him. He raised his arms so his shirt could be removed, groaning at the pain again. It wasn’t kind. But the feather light touches on his skin were… nice, in a way. He was brushing the skin around his injuries, checking them, but it was soothing. A brief kiss on his chest, learned behavior from Ace. It made his heart skip under the gentle brush of lips. His shoes and socks were next, then his pants, finally boxers. He wasn’t totally comfortable being undressed, never was. But he eased his way over and into the water, letting out a long sigh as his muscles cried in gratitude, injuries cried in pain, at the hot water. He just laid his head back for a few minutes, breathing. He opened his eyes to see Guzma watching him, cheeks flushed. 

 

“Wanna get in with me?” He murmured softly. “You won’t get your clothes wet, then.” 

 

Guzma seemed to consider it for a moment. “Ya just wanna see me naked,” he teased, smirking. But he started to strip, even making a little show of it; everything was taken off slowly, a little languidly even. Despite his pain, his breath hitched for a totally different reason. Finally, the taller man encouraged him to sit up long enough that he could slide in behind him. He leaned back against his body, skin surprisingly pale compared to his own. He watched the purple ‘S’-s slither across his waist like snakes. He purred in contentment, closing his eyes so he could just enjoy. Why was he going to deny this, again?

 

At first, Guzma didn’t try to bathe him. They soaked in the hot water, pale hands roaming his body aimlessly, across the flat planes and broad chest, thumbing the sharp hipbones. He pressed gentle, open-mouthed kisses to his neck, his shoulders. The tension of his rigid-stiff muscles started to relax, just a bit. His shoulders hurt less when they didn’t have to carry the pressure of his whole body tensing up. 

 

Finally, his lover cupped water in his hands, letting it cascade down his hair. He filled a palm with shampoo. Green apple filled his nose, made him smile. Even in Guzma’s bathroom, he still had his own hair products. Or he had to go get them for the bath, just for him. Aww. Sap.

 

He started to scruff it through his hair, trying to be gentle. Stray suds occasionally found a nick or stray cut that made him hiss, but otherwise he enjoyed it. Guzma massaged his scalp gently, nearly putting his boyfriend to sleep against his chest. Did he know how good this felt? Maybe he’d return the favor when he was all recovered. Right now, all that mattered were the fingers running down the short sideburns by his ears. He purred in contentment, lips parting slightly. He felt terrible when Guzma quickly wet and scrubbed his own hair, but he tilted his head so he could press soft kisses to his collarbone and throat, his hands rubbing innocently up and down his lover’s thighs. The intimacy of it all was nearly overwhelming, but all he could do was crave more, almost needing to care for the man that cradled him now. Guzma rinsed his own hair first, then pressed a hand over his eyes - including the nasty slice over the left brow - to shield from shampoo, the other bringing water to cascade overtop. It took a little longer, but the rhythmic splash of water and the complete darkness were hypnotizing. Finally, it was good enough for his lover, and the world flooded with light again. He tilted his head up to look at his partner, emotions filling him, trying to spill out into the bath, to explode out of him, but unable. Apparently, he could figure it out, because Guzma ducked to press an upside-down kiss to his lips. Different, but he liked it. Then again, if it meant kissing Guzma, he liked it no matter what. 

 

He dipped a washcloth in water, squeezed out a line of body wash. He was careful to avoid the numerous scratches, especially going around the deeper ones in case soap dripped into it. The one time it did, his lover was quick to murmur an apology, gently squeezing the bicep he was holding to steady him. 

 

“You’re so good to me,” Ace mumbled, a state of mostly-conscious making everything a little dreamlike. “I’m so lucky.”

 

Guzma was quiet for a beat. “Thanks. For helping them. I don’t wanna think about what woulda happened-”

 

“Then don’t,” Ace cut him off quickly. The thought of the blood of the grunts on his hands made him want to throw up. He didn’t want to ruin this memory, didn’t want to give it a reason to fade. 

 

“You’re strong.” He was using the washcloth to rinse him off now, pressing kisses to his neck. He recalled back in the beginning, when Guzma used to call him that like a prayer. He began to think maybe it was more of a question back then. Now, he let it steep; it may be one mystery he’ll never solve. That, he decided, might be okay. “You were brave. I’m proud of ya.  _ I’m  _ the lucky one.” It was rare that Guzma was the one to praise him; usually,  _ he _ was happy to be the provider. But he took it in stride, snuggling further into his lover’s arms, tilting his head to allow access to his neck. He moaned his lover’s name, softly, when he sucked a possessive mark into the soft skin of his shoulder. It wasn’t inherently sexual, and he was too in pain and tired to be turned on, but it was sensual, it was appreciated. To wear his mark with pride, as if a subtle reminder who owned him, body and soul. 

 

The water was turning cold, and Ace turned whiny when he got cold. Luckily, his partner was a little smarter, and stepped out, helping him out before it got to that point, wrapping him in an oversized, fluffy towel. He grinned weakly at the sentiment; breaking out the best for him. He wondered if maybe he’d proven his worth to the team yet. Guzma drained the tub, a towel slung low on his hips. Holy shit, they’d have to do this again when his body wasn’t broken to the point of no return he decided, watching steam curl off his lover’s body, water droplets racing down his skin, hipbones barely holding the towel up. He wondered if he’d let him take a picture. 

 

He was patted dry, chuckling when Guzma was scruffing his hair and moved to scruff his face, waving him off. He rubbed his lover’s shoulders as he dressed him, mostly in his clothes (as  _ his  _ clothes, according to Guzma, were all too tight and would rub the wounds.) It sounded like a lie to just see him in his clothing, but Ace would never object, feeling cozy in the baggy hoodie and sweats. 

  
He tugged Guzma to the bed, letting himself be lowered onto the sheets, tugging on the ends of his shirt until he crawled in beside him. He sought his lips, humming in pleasure when fingers played with his hair, scratching gently down to his neck and back up. He sucks gently on his lover’s bottom lip, kissing with just a hint of tongue. When was the last time he got to enjoy him like this? To kiss him,  _ just  _ kiss him, for hours? He had a million things he still felt he needed to say, so instead, he busied his mouth with Guzma’s until exhaustion pulled him into a dreamless sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Dads to the rescue.

 

Recovery was slow. The thing is, Rock Tomb is a powerful move. The energy of the Pokemon infused with the rocks to make the wounds seep deep beyond the surface. While the Grunts had been treated at the hospital, their medications warding off the effects, Ace had stayed quiet, unknowingly let the toxin stew in his body. After a week, when the wounds kept opening and bleeding, and wouldn’t start to heal, Guzma dragged him to the hospital. They informed him of the toxin, how it had been in his body too long for medication to be effective. They would make him comfortable, they offered, but otherwise it just had to wear itself off. They declined, deciding instead to go home. 

 

It took two weeks for the wounds to finally start clotting more than a few hours. Six weeks for the muscles to stop aching, scars to start forming. By the eight-week mark, he was ready to go.

 

He looked over to his lover, softening just a fraction. He looked focused. Good. They were going to need it, today. Now that he was healed enough to function, they were finally ready for the bloodhunt. They’d spent his eight weeks secretly planning, researching, finding the two that had ruthlessly come for their Grunts. You didn’t fuck with Skull. The two that had been attacked were already healed, their casts removed, though they still abstained from field work for a little longer. These Aether punks, he decided, weren’t going to be so lucky. 

 

He stood, adjusting the trio of balls on his hip, warm to the touch and more than ready. He’d been training them against one another, against Guzma’s team, for the past two weeks, getting them into real fighting shape. They were thrilled at the change of pace, the chance to prove their worth to their master; maybe he’d have to battle more once this was over. 

 

Guzma looked up at him, the steel-cold look on his face sending an invisible shiver down his spine. Serious Guzma was a rare treat; he could get serious, but this was unlike anything else. He tamped his personal self down, drawing from his reserves as an Admin. He helped him to his feet, the two setting out. The Grunts that litter the streets watch them curiously, excitedly. They have an idea what’s going on, but the duo had been generally hushed about their plans, in case somehow it got out. It felt good, for them to move out of his way, to watch him walk. He felt powerful. 

 

They make their way towards Route 15. They had worked it out, finally found the two worked in the Aether House and would be alone for a few hours today. They’d planned every little detail. They paused when they saw the house, determined, a thrum of energy surrounding the air around them. It was offensively white, blinding in the Alolan sun. They headed to the entrance, impatient. They waited long enough. 

 

Entering was no trouble. The desk was empty except for an Oranguru. Upon seeing the pair, it released a questioning ‘Uru-oo?’ A man came out one of the doors, looking at them questioningly. Before he could say a word, he took in the two; the outfits, the symbols. He looked nervous, for a second. Then, he called out for his partner in the back, bracing himself; to hit, to fight, to call Pokemon, anything. Already Ace and Guzma were calling out their Pokemon, ready to throw themselves in.

 

He called for Jolteon first, who leapt from his ball in unison with Masquerain. Oranguru shrieked, clamoring over the desk to assist as he sent out Toucannon. It took a single Thundershock to down Toucannon, despite its efforts to dodge the incoming blast of energy. Masquerain made itself busy with Oranguru; it swatted and roared, but otherwise couldn’t keep up as it fell to its Bug-type weakness. The Aether worker’s partner came barging through, freezing at the sight for a beat before he was releasing his Pokemon. Ace withdrew Jolteon; he needed his strength later. Growlithe launched from his ball with vigor, ready to battle the newly released Mudsdale and Rockruff. He watched as Rockruff and Growlithe lunged at one another, fangs baring, snarling, too fast to keep track of. Mudsdale whirled on its hooves, launching its powerful back kick that sent Masquerain slamming into the wall. Guzma growled, withdrawing the unconscious pokemon, sending Ariados into the fray. 

 

The call of commands, the snarl of the dog Pokemon, the stomp of Mudsdale’s hooves; the room was hectic, chairs being smashed, walls earning new cracks when a body or hoof would slam into it. Rockruff went down when Ariados finallly ensnared it in a web it couldn’t escape, subjecting it to Growlithe’s powerful column of fire. Mudsdale took Ariados down with a strong lash of its front hooves, weakening Growlithe immensely with a harsh kick to the side, but eventually collapsed from the burn damage of a Flamethrower. Wimpod was released, and Ace nervously withdrew the weakened Growlithe, who was panting and snarling, like it was ready to lose itself. Sandshrew stomped to the ground in its release, glaring down the Hypno that watched them warily. Apparently, the other trainer was out of Pokemon already. He grinned wickedly. This should be easy. 

 

Hypno stared Sandshrew down, its pendulum swinging steadily. But it dug into the ground, breaking tiles to disappear underneath the floor. Confused, it looked around for its turnup point, but to no avail. It surfaced directly under Hypno, sending it flying into the air and crashing back down. It stumbled to its feet, angered. Sandshrew turned around, and a powerful wave from Hypnosis crashed into it. It staggered, shaking its head, fighting it. But no matter how hard it fought, the inaudible waves kept coming, until it dropped to its stomach, asleep. Ace growled, jaw clenched.

 

Meanwhile, Wimpod had been nervously trembling, scuttling about, trying to escape the fray. When Hypno turned on it, it let out a weird chirp, cowering before it.

 

“Wimpod! C’mon, I  _ know _ you can do it!” Guzma cried out to his Pokemon, fists clenched at his sides. Ace didn’t have a lot of hope, Wimpod was… well, a cowardly wimp. He just called out to Sandshrew, hoping to rouse it from sleep. Wimpod looked to Guzma, then to Hypno, and it flared a brilliant flash of white. The two shielded their eyes briefly, until the light died. Where Wimpod had been stood… something. Ace didn’t recognize it. 

 

“Golisopod,” Guzma breathed, disbelieving. He didn’t quite believe it either, no way that cowardly little bug turned into this multi-limped beast of power. It stomped its foot, towering over Hypno now, letting out a screech that made him cringe. “That’s it, buddy! Show me what you can do!” Wimpod had known little more than to struggle, but this creature, who knew what it came pre-packaged with? It screeched again, perhaps its battle cry, and released a shower of sticky web-like threads. It spun to near breakneck speeds, cutting Hypno and its trainers alike, obliterating any hopes the other team had left. Hypno disappeared in a beam of red, and Ace swapped the sleeping Sandshrew for Jolteon. They advanced, the two stepping close to one another for defense.

 

“You win. Great. Now go,” one of the workers snapped, as if annoyed. The Admin felt his lips curl viciously while Guzma laughed.

 

“No way, punks. Ya messed with Skull, now ya pay.” Realization dawned on them when they realized this wasn’t just a battle for honor, but payback. Ace shouted, and Jolteon cried out, leaping forward and releasing the energy in its fur, a tremendous bolt of lightning striking the two. There was no scream, but the smell of burn was acrid in his nose. He sent out Sandshrew, who, thankfully, had awoken in its ball. Good, saved him the extra step. 

 

“Dig,” he commanded, and the Pokemon drilled into the ground, effectively creating a hole in the ground. Guzma grabbed the paralyzed duo, tossing them in unceremoniously. “Sand tomb.” He’d taught it this for just this occasion; he wasn’t a fan of the idea of causing the pain he’d felt on another pokemon, so he’d replace it later. For now, a whirlwind of sand kicked up, more piling into the spiral that circled their makeshift ‘grave.’ Slowly, sand began filling the hole, the paralyzed men unable to do much more than watch. 

  
“Don’t fuck with Skull, or we’ll bury ya,” Guzma snarled, spitting into the hole. They left, leaving the sandstorm to whip around for a while.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut part two: electric boogaloo

The walk back was silent. It wasn’t totally a victory for them, but a necessity. Their actions had been unforgivable. His boys could have died. All they did was return the favor. He wondered, distantly, if anyone would find them in time. He was surprised he wasn’t more perturbed at the idea that he just may have killed someone, or someones, but the guilt just wouldn’t stick. Mentally, it was justified; they had just as much of a chance as they’d given his grunts. 

 

Grunts in Po Town looked relieved, some even cheering quietly when they saw their leaders return, a little bruised here or there from stray rocks Mudsdale kicked up at them, but otherwise generally unscathed and looking hard as bone. 

 

They are in Ace’s room, as it’s generally become known that Ace’s room meant absolute privacy unless you wanted to piss them off. Guzma turns to him, and he looks… different. He looks pleased, like he’s finally made a difference, like he’s made a name for himself to finally be taken seriously. Confident.

 

Ace lunges for him, fisting his shirt, nearly lifting him from his slouch to crush their mouths together. Guzma lets out an appreciative groan, presses their bodies flush together. He turns to press his lover to the wall, slots a knee between his legs. The boss grinds against his thigh, fingers tugging at his hair to tilt his head, plunges his tongue into his mouth. It’s explosive, it’s aggressive, it’s something they’ve never done before. They’ve been here tons of times, but there’s a hidden promise in Ace’s movements, one that is answered willingly by his lover. His hands snake under his shirt, brush to softness of his stomach, seek to toy with his nipples. An encouraging moan into his mouth makes it nearly impossible, but he pushes his hands up to remove his T-shirt, the hoodie sliding off with it. They barely separate their mouths long enough to let the fabric go. His gold pendant thuds against his chest, but they leave it there. Guzma returns the favor, until their bare chests are barely separated when their pendants clink together. 

 

He ducks his head, pulling Guzma’s hair until he throws his head back, exposing his throat which he gleefully attacks. He licks a stripe up to his ear, nips the sensitive skin just under the lobe, travels back down through a stray bite or kiss, a swipe of his tongue. He sucked dark marks wherever his teeth didn’t bruise, littering his throat in gorgeous dark marks. He wasn’t sure where this aggressive possession came from, but the idea of Grunts seeing his Guzma’s neck the next day, blushing and looking away as they tried not to imagine how it happened let him grinding against Guzma’s leg, just briefly. 

 

He seeks out his nipple, hands rubbing his sides eagerly. He latches on, and Guzma is more vocal here. He’s sensitive, and it’s like a blessing to Ace, to make him come undone like this so easily. He brushed his lips against the nub, just heat and teasing touches. He scrapes his teeth against it, uses just the tip of his tongue to flick against it. The teasing has got his lover whimpering, sending electric shocks straight to his cock. He sucks, a little harder, and Guzma keens, clutching the sheets. He moved to the other side, certain not to neglect it, his fingers seeking the first side he was on. When his mouth is sucking, he rolls the nub with his fingers, or when he bites, he tugs, or when he runs his tongue over it, he pinches. His lover is grinding against his thigh now steadily, whining above him. 

 

He dropped to his knees, biting at his belly gently, sucking marks into the skin above his hipbones. He ran hand up to rub his cock through his sweats, making him groan. “You look so good like this,” he murmured, nuzzling the outline. “I want to worship you. You’re so fuckin’ perfect. I can’t get enough of you.” Guzma is whining now, his hands threading into his hair, getting desperate. He curses a soft ‘fuck,’ licks his lips. Ace tugs his waistband, slowly pulling his boxers off, lets his cock spring free. He purrs in appreciation, licks one long stripe up from the base to the tip, flicking his tongue at the sensitive nerve at the head. “Fuck, I want you. You’re so good to me,” he groans against his erection, his words sending vibrations down his cock. Guzma’s knees nearly buckle. “I want you to fuck my face,” he growls, and his lover gasps. He takes his length into his mouth now, sucking gently as his hand stroked along the rest of his length. He bobs his head slowly; despite his desperation, their need, he was a tease at heart, dragging out his lover to the very last of his will, begging and wanton. 

 

Guzma whispers his name, and he looks up, causes him to groan and toss his head back at the sight. He collects himself, and Ace drops his hand, pulls back so the head of his dick is resting on his tongue, as if encouraging him. The boss thrusts in slowly, sighing at the feeling, cautious not to go too far and choke him. He set a steady pace, not too fast, as if he knows to savor this. Ace stroked his thighs, fondled the base of his cock and balls gently, relished the sounds his lover streamed forth unconsciously. 

 

He got a little too fast, too reckless, as one particular thrust went too deep, choking him. Saliva filled his mouth, and Guzma murmured an apology, stroking his face. He tilted his head, looking up at him, and felt the shiver. “I’m not gonna last if you let me keep going,” he said. It was a test.  _ How far?  _

 

Ace withdrew, one last long suck at the head, before he stood, kissing his partner earnestly. Guzma’s hand wrapped around his cock and he gasped into his mouth, almost shocked by the delicious contact. Guzma pushed at his waistband until he removed them himself, the two undressed aside from their pendants. He tugged him back by the hips, dragging him to the bed and pushing him down on top of the blankets. He crawled overtop, crawling up him with bites and sucks on his soft skin all the way up to his mouth, kissing him firmly. Guzma grabbed his cock, stroking him slowly. He moaned lowly into his mouth at the blissful contact. 

 

“Lube?” His lover murmured, and he nodded, let him pull off to rummage in his bedside table drawer and withdraw the lube. He uncapped it, smearing it over his fingers and running it down Ace’s cock, the cool liquid blissfully silk. He wrapped a hand around both of their cocks, frotting them together with a little desperation. It made him dizzy with pleasure, groaning and dropping his forehead to his lover’s shoulder, who bit the skin of his neck. He bucked his hips, let pleasure edge him until he can barely see straight, eyes screwing shut. 

 

Guzma pulls off, knows the warning signs of getting too close. Instead he grabs the lube again, hands it to his lover. He grips it, but first gives his lover one last kiss before crawling down his body. “I’m going to make you feel  _ incredible,”  _ he promises, nipping his thigh. Guzma keens as his tongue swipes his entrance, spreading him for easier access with his hands, bottle still gripped in one hand. He loosens him with his tongue, it’s filthy, it’s raunchy, it’s… fitting, for them. He fucks him with his tongue, rutting against the sheets at the whimpers and groans singing in his ears. 

 

He pulls off, lubing up his fingers generously. He presses one in gently, catches eye contact with those hazy white he adored. His free hand reaches up to link fingers with Guzma’s, a brief flicker of adoration in each of their expressions, before a crooked finger makes his head fall back with a soft moan. He thrusts his finger, until a short nod indicates he’s ready for the second. He obliges, letting him adjust to the larger intrusion, with short, shallow thrusts to aid him along. He scissors them apart after a while, too cautious to afford injuring his love. A third finger for good measure, and he fucked him gently, making certain to only brush his prostate just once, just enough to make him want for more, make his throat go dry. 

 

“Ace, ha… ff… c’mon… quit fu-fuckin’ around…” Guzma groaned finally, unable to hold himself back any longer, bucking his hips to thrust down on his fingers. 

 

“I thought that was the plan,” he purred, sliding his fingers out, rummaging in the drawer for a condom, which he rolls on with shaking fingers. A sharp glare. He chuckles, lines himself up and nudges his entrance just a bit. It makes his snide remark die in his throat.

 

He hesitates a second to take in the sight, Guzma’s pale skin flushed dark, hair sweat-slicked to his forehead, open-mouthed and panting, their eyes meeting briefly. His lover didn’t move, didn’t say anything, and he desperately scrabbled to retain this, to remember every feeling, every sight, the way his lungs heaved that gorgeously-marked-up chest, the way his knees spread a little further for easier maneuvering, their fingers still linked together. Finally, he figures Guzma has waited long enough and presses in, just an inch, lets him adjust before he continues. It takes a few minutes to bottom out; not because he’s hurting Guzma, but rather, he is trying so desperately not to. He rests for a moment, lets him adjust, the two kissing, and it’s full of love, and trust, and it’s like the adrenaline and desire quells just long enough for them to fall in love all over again.

 

He thrusts slowly, watches every expression pass his lover’s face. He murmurs sweet nothings, words of affirmation, words of love. “You look incredible… hff… I could do this all day i-  _ haaa -  _ if it meant making you feel like a king.” Guzma whimpered, claws down his back, begs him for more as he wraps a hand around his neglected cock.

 

It’s not slow or lazy, but the aggression is long-gone. That can come later, when they are more familiar with one another. Right now, all that matters is making his Guzma feel good, making stars appear before his eyes when he comes. He angles his hips up, gripping tightly, almost bruising. He fucks him, fast now. The buildup has been long and long-overdue. They’re not built to last, not this time. Guzma is already doing that thing, where his thighs tense up and he bites his lip between moans, and he knows he’s close. He strokes his lover faster now, until he’s screaming his name, like he wanted the whole world to know who made him feel like this. It was gorgeous; he could barely keep thrusting as he watched his lover come undone underneath him. As he comes down from his high, Ace lets himself get lost in it, coming hard just as his lover is starting to get sensitive, his body tensing as he groans out Guzma’s name. 

 

They’re panting as he collapses, trying not to squish his lover, but letting his weight rest on his chest, pendants clinking as they clicked together. They gasped for breath, just trying to recollect their thoughts, before Ace raised his head to look at him. A hand snaked into his hair, slick with sweat, and dragged him down to kiss. It was  _ luxury. _

They kiss, and kiss, basking in the afterglow, hands running anywhere they could reach. They’re completely lost in each other, and Ace only pulls off to murmur words of praise and contentment, kissing down his throat, his chest, kissing his heart once, twice, three times, makes his way back to his mouth. It’s bliss, and he feels love seeping through his body, red blood slowly being replaced with liquid gold.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of peace.

“How about a Jacob’s ladder? Ribbed for your pleasure?”   


“Abso _ lutely  _ not.”

 

“Vibrating tongue bolt? Wouldn’t ya like that on your-”

 

“ _ Guzma. _ ”

 

Guzma throws his head back to laugh, its volume escalating when Ace slaps his thigh hard. The boss is sitting in his admin’s lap, ankles crossed at his lower back, hands placed on his chest. Ace has his arms around Guzma’s back, but uses one to brace while the other went to smack him. It had taken some time to become comfortable enough to talk about play-hitting; in any other situation, they wouldn’t think twice about it, but considering their histories, it had been off-limits until they sat down and talked it through, and took it slowly in actual application. Now, months later, they were able to actually do it. Guzma leaned back to his original slouch, grinning. 

 

“C’mon, babe, I’m just fuckin’ ya.”

 

Ace snorted. He’d called him out when Guzma had said that before, mistaking it for ‘fucking with you.’ Neither of them let him live it down. He scritched the small of his back through his shirt, tilting his head up in silent request for a kiss. 

 

Annie had recently gotten into tattooing and piercing. The Grunts all seemed to itch for ink and metal, yet the options for that were limited; they had to go off-island to even consider getting work done. She had always been artistic, graffiti littering the streets and islands, but she figured with the equipment she could actually  _ do  _ it, and make some money on the sides. She’d requested their help, and was elated when her admins offered to pool together and buy her what she needed to get started. While they had turned down her offer for ink, piercings did appeal to Ace. After voicing it to his lover, they were discussing getting something together. 

 

With the freedom of it now, he was stuck between a number of things. He didn’t want to just get piercings all over the place, he wanted it to be tasteful. 

 

“I think I’ve narrowed it down,” he voices, and earns an expectant look. “My eyebrow, my think. Or my lip.” 

 

“Which side?”

 

“Left for lip, right for eyebrow.” Guzma looks at his mouth, presses a kiss briefly, nips his lower lip. He considers as he pulls back. He stroked his thumb along his right brow, where a long scar had finally formed from that day he saved the Grunts. His lover kisses it gently, and he sighs, the direct scar being numb, but feeling the pressure and the brush of lips just above and below the scar tissue. 

 

“Why not both?” Ace considers his idea for a while. 

 

“What about you?”

 

“Aww, couples piercings. What’s next? Couples massages? Couples Mudsdale riding on the beach at sunset? Couples dinners?”

 

“We already do that one, love.”

 

“...Oh yeah.”

 

They share a chuckle into each other, completely at ease with the world for now. 

 

They find themselves on Annie’s doorstep, knocking before entering. She calls out and they open the door, stepping inside and shutting it before Rockruff can run out. 

 

“Yo yo, boss! And Ace! Whassup?” A video game is paused on the screen. After being told they were taking her offer of returning the favor for equipment. She looked ecstatic, listened intently as they explained; for Ace, an eyebrow ring until he could decide on the lip ring, and for Guzma, a tongue bolt (no Jacob’s ladder, no matter how much he begged.)

 

Ace went first, sitting back on the chair. He had a higher pain tolerance, so for Guzma to see him and settle any nerves he may be having. He held his hand anyway, just to be close, his thumb stroking over the knuckles. Annie chittered about how she’d already done three tattoos, and finally felt like she had a purpose. It warmed his heart as she prepared the needle. She lined up with the clamp and pushed it through. He barely felt more than heat, surprisingly. Guzma hissed for him, but at his lack of reaction, he relaxed. She replaced it with the black bar, screwed two black points into place. She showed him his reflection. He paused, looking himself over. Was that really him? The same little boy that had run away from home …. How long had it been? Over a year? Where had the time gone?

 

He grinned at her, complemented its perfect placement. She flushed with pride. Guzma’s turn. He sat down, Ace sitting behind him. He grabbed both his hands, piling them on his lover’s chest. He felt a little tense, but that was only because he knew this man better than anyone else in the world. He could read what no other could ever dream to. 

 

She pressed a clamp to his tongue and his jaw set, trying to grit through the pain. It wasn’t unbearable, but the clamp was harsh on the muscle and he wasn’t a fan. She worked quickly, and before he could even think about it, she was already putting the piercing in. The release of the clamp came with a flood of relief through his lover. Ace pressed a kiss to his neck soothingly, murmuring praise into the skin. Annie looked like she was trying to bite back an ‘aww’ that came out as a squeak anyway. She turned away, flushing. He grinned, entertained by the idea of doing  _ much worse  _ to his lover, but he stayed tame, just running his thumb over calloused knuckles.

 

“Stop tongueing it.”

 

“I’ll tongue  _ you,”  _ came the snide remark.

 

“Don’t threaten  _ me  _ with a good time.” 

 

Back in their room, Guzma wouldn’t stop fussing with the piercing. Both were a little sore, but happy. Ace was staring at himself in the mirror. He ran fingers along his jawline. It was sharper now. He looked older without the long locks framing his face. His fauxhawk had been generally perfected, the two stripes platinum white against his natural black. He looked more… he didn’t know. But he wouldn’t have recognized himself a year ago, he thought. Guzma’s arms slide around his waist, and he takes in the sight of the purple snaking across his tank, the man’s face dip to kiss his neck, then straighten up most of the way to plop his chin on his head.

 

“What you staring for?” He looked at Guzma, too. He looked very similar. Still slouched, eyes still deep in their sockets and dark like he couldn’t sleep, undercut alive and well. To an outsider, he was the same. Ace saw the softness in his eyes, the way being in love had put a fire in his soul brighter than Solgaleo’s own blaze. Not to mention, mere months ago, he would have teased Ace for staring in the mirror, something about narcissism. But he could see the expression on his face, faraway and lost in thought. He gently scratched his nails over his ink.

 

“I’m different.”

 

“Yeah.” He doesn’t disagree, despite not fully explained the thought.

 

“It’s been over a year since I came here.” 

 

“Almost a year and a half. Our anniversary is soon. Can’t let ya forget that. Make my present a good one.” He’s grinning cheekily, one Ace returns.

 

“What, diamonds and the moon aren’t enough?” Ace accuses, quirking a brow - which burned in a gentle reminder of its new jewellry. 

 

“Eh.” He shrugs. “It’s a start.”

  
They laughed together. He’d happily give him the world.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reality of it all.

It’s late one night when Guzma gets a phone call.

 

They’re sleeping together, Guzma’s sprawled out on the mattress, and Ace is bundled up in all the blankets. There’s a foot on his hip, but he’s unconscious. The ringtone is loud, startling them awake. 

 

“You left Do Not Disturb off,” Ace grumbled, biting the closest thing he can reach, which happens to be the bare skin on his side. Guzma crawls over him to get to the nightstand, snatches it off its charger. They don’t recognize the number, but it could be a newer Grunt.

 

“Better be a good fuckin’ reason yer wakin’ us up in t-”

 

“Guzma?” He can barely make out the tinny voice on the phone.

 

“Mom?”

 

Oh shit. Ace shoots up now, staring at the man on the phone, who looks just a shocked. He wraps his arms around his waist, tugs him into his lap. Guzma obliges, listens carefully.

 

“...That’s not really my fuckin’ problem, is it?”

 

This time he can hear her as Guz pulls the phone away from his ear, just a hair.  _ “Guzma, honey, please. I’d hate for something to happen and you regret not seeing him again. Just come home.”  _

 

Guzma doesn’t give her an answer more than the click of hanging up. He was silent for a minute, then, in a bout of rage, let out a roar, throwing his phone against the opposite wall. Ace doesn’t need to look at it to know it’s shattered, a small dent in the drywall. His lover buried his face in his hands, and he holds him to his body, pressing soft kisses to the bare skin of his shoulder blades, his back, his shoulders. Finally, Guzma sighed. 

 

“Fuck that shit. I’m not goin’ back there, yo.” He pulled his hands from his face, shaking his head. “No fuckin’ way.” 

 

“Okay.” 

 

“No fuckin’ way am I goin’ back to that house.” This time, Ace just replied with another kiss to whatever skin is under his lips.

 

They do not sleep that night.

 

Guzma stews for a few days. He is irritable and irrational, snapping the heads off of Grunts and even attempting a few times to snap at Ace, who tries to keep his patience without allowing him to lash out. The one time the skull boss turns on heel to snarl and snap at him, he gives him space. In less than an hour, Guzma sneaks up behind him, guiltily wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face into his neck. Ace forgives him.

 

Dinner is silent tonight, his lover methodically chewing with a vacant stare on his face. Ace is familiar enough to know that he doesn’t really have troubles with dissociation, and he’s just lost in thought. He took their plates when they finished, and went to wash the dishes in the sink. He’s nearly finished, on the last pot, when arms find their way around his waist. He’d admit it, he loved being held from behind like this. He felt cared for, surrounded, like he could face anything with his man at his back. But right now, his man is weak, tottering on unstable foundation, and right now he feels more like a support beam, or maybe like he was mixing the concrete to fix him again. He felt his lover’s face screw up against the nape of his neck, feels the unsteady breathing. He put the pot down to dry when he’s done, drying his hands on a towel before covering the purple skulls on the strong arms around himself, thumbs stroking idly. 

 

Finally, he feels the man behind him let out a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to go back there,” he whispers.

 

“I know, my love.” Ace feels his heart crack, that he can’t take his turmoil away. 

 

“...I think… I think I have to.” 

 

He’s silent for a minute, gently tugs Guzma’s arms so he has enough room to turn around and face him, hands going to cup his face when he pulls back. He looks fragile, like he could shatter any moment. He strokes his thumb along his jaw, brow furrowing. 

“Ace… I can’t do this. I can’t do it alone. Please…” He doesn’t speak his request.

 

“I’ll go with you. I’ll do whatever you need.” 

 

There’s a look of relief for just a second, but it passed quickly. Guzma screwed his eyes shut, leaning his head down on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Ace lets him cry.

 

Finally he relaxes. Ace does something he hates to do; he goes to the fridge, cracking out two cans of beer, hands one to his lover. They take it up to his bedroom, sipping idly until the cans are empty. With the alcohol loosening their shoulders, he kisses anything he can reach, spends the next few hours worshipping him, words of love and devotion tumbling from his lips like a prayer, even for long after they’re collapsed on the sheets, totally spent.

 

The morning comes with an exhaustion that comes only from nightmares and a sleepless night. There’s an uneasiness that settles over them, and Ace tries his damndest to kiss his lover anywhere he can, any chance he gets. They get on the ferry, the two standing at the bow and watching Growlithe pant in the wind, enjoying the speedy wind of the boat. They watch it, let it keep their stress from peaking. They rehearse what he’s going to say, but in the end, it can only come from the heat of the moment. Too soon they are landing on Hau’oli. He recalls Growlithe, plants another kiss on Guzma’s cheek. 

 

They are outside the house, staring at it. From this angle, it looks different. Very different from overlooking it on the hilltop; now it feels looming, too big. He holds his lover’s hand for support, squeezes gently. Guzma quietly whispers that he wants to leave. Ace asks if that’s what they should do now; turn around, go back. Guzma is silent, but instead approaches the door, knocks. 

 

A woman opens the door. She’s average height, but shorter than both of them. She’s got her hair, silvery with age, tucked up into a perfect bun. He clutches his lover’s back in support, feels how tense he is. 

 

“Guzma! Oh, honey,” she cries, going in for a hug he half-heartedly returns. “I’m so glad you came. Come in, knocking like you don’t live here… And… who’s your friend?” He stands a little taller, a hard look on his face. He is not here to be kind to them. She steps aside and Guzma walks in, and he can  _ see  _ the shell forming around him. He follows after, stands beside him, if not a little behind, their shoulders aligned front to back. Both of them have their hands shoved in their pockets. Ace thumbs the pokeball idly, ready to defend his lover should the worst outcome approach. 

 

“Whozat?” A voice called, a heavy stomp of feet from the hall, deeper in the house. He slid his hand out, indiscreetly pressed it against the small of his lover’s back. He feels his breath shorten, like he can’t breathe deep enough. 

 

“Guzma’s here, honey! And he’s brought a friend.” Neither have given his name yet. He kept his mouth shut, jaw gritted tight enough to ache. A large man rounds the corner. He looks off, sickly. Good, maybe he’ll fucking die. 

 

“Finally came crawling back here, huh?” The man flops into a chair in front of the TV, which is facing away from them. Ace watched Guzma scowl.  “You ready to knock the fooling around bullshit off and come home?”

 

“I’m here cause  _ she  _ asked me to.” He jerked his head to his mother, who is still standing by the now closed door, eyes darting between her husband, her son, and this stranger no one will introduce her to.  

 

“Dear, ever since you got sick, I just couldn’t bear the thought of you two never talking again,” she interjects gently, approaching her husband’s chair. He ‘hmph’ed. 

 

“Nothin’ to talk about.”

 

“Of fucking course not,” Guzma growled, and the man snapped his head up.

 

“What’d you say, boy?” He stands, eyes narrowing. Ace steps up to his lover’s side in an instant, ready to brawl. But he’s interrupted.

 

“I’m saying you’re  _ fucked up!”  _ Guzma shouts this, and his hands are balled into fists, one points to his father. Ace lets him loose, lets him release his anger, the anger he’s had building his entire life. “You have  _ no idea _ how  _ badly  _ you fucking ruined my life!” 

 

“I _GAVE_ YOU LIFE, BOY!” His father roars, stepping closer. Guzma explodes.

 

“Like  _ shit  _ you did! What kind of father beats his son? For no  _ fuckin’ _ reason?!” He jabs a finger towards the corner. Ace follows his gaze, feels his blood freeze at the sight of a bag of golf clubs, horribly bent at all angles. “You literally broke my  _ fucking back _ , and you didn’t give a  _ shit!”  _ This was news to Ace, but it made sense; why he couldn’t stand up totally straight without discomfort, why his default landed in a hunch. His heart in his throat, he looked back at his lover, who was still seething. “I was  _ never  _ good enough for you! I’ve never, ever, heard anything good from  _ either  _ of you! The only reason I know what ‘I love you’ even  _ sounds  _ like is because of him!” Ace tries not to recoil when Guzma gestures at him and his parents’ eyes jerk to him. He sets his jaw, raises his chin, defiant. 

 

“What the hell are you on about, boy? We have a duty as your parents to raise you right.” 

 

Guzma laughs, humorlessly. “I can’t believe this shit. I shouldn’t be so surprised. You’re never gonna change. I’m only here to make sure you don’t start beating Ma.” 

 

His father spits. “Ungrateful brat. I’d never lay a hand on a woman.”

 

“But you’d raise your hand to a kid? You’re a fucking  _ monster,  _ and you ruined my life.” He shook his head. “Not anymore. I’m tired of letting you get in the way of me bein’ happy. I ain’t ever gonna forgive you. But  _ maybe _ I’ll think about givin’ you another chance to be in the more important shit in my life someday, if you’re  _ real  _ lucky.” Ace has a feeling that will never happen, but the display of maturity moves him. His lover turns to him, and he softens, just a degree. “C’mon, babe. Let’s get outta this hellpit.” He follows Guzma silently, offering a long glare to his father.

 

His father starts screaming, something about coming back here, they’re not through here, he was lucky if he’d walk outta there black and blue by the time he was through with him. Ace considered going back to punish him, to release the frustration from not being able to help his lover. Instead, he stays, as always, at his lover’s side. They board the ferry and head back home.

 

Guzma sighs, finally, finally releasing the tension in his shoulders. Ace leans on the boat’s railing, watches his lover as he is bent nearly in half to lay his forehead on the arms crossed on the rail beside him. 

 

“I can’t forgive them. But… just because he can’t change doesn’t mean I can’t, you know?” Guzma looks up at him expectantly. “I’m glad I got it out, and I got to say something, but I still feel all fucked up inside.”

 

“I’m glad you got to confront him.” He accepts the incoming embrace, tilts his neck for kisses. “I’m proud of you.”

 

“Thank you for coming with me. I don’t think I coulda done it without ya.” Ace leans back a bit to raise a brow at him. Guzma laughed. “Alright, alright, I  _ know  _ I couldn't've done it. Happy?”

 

Ace purrs at the lips on his throat. “Very.”

 

They get home, decide to spend the day off. 

 

A few weeks later, Ace watches his lover take a too-large bite of pizza, nearly choking, which Plumeria laughs at. He smiles, looks out to the water where some of the grunts are playing in the water. He scratches the exposed skin of Guzma’s thigh idly, fingertips skirting just under his boardshorts. The sand is warm under him, the sun beats down gently.

 

Life isn’t a movie. There isn’t some major climax, where everyone gets their problems out in the open, the villain is defeated, and everyone goes home happy. Sometimes, conflict isn’t settled with a satisfying exchange. Problems don’t get solved. Sometimes, life doesn’t get that flawless happy ending that ties up all the loose ends. 

 

Their problems aren’t solved overnight. They still have a lot of work to do, a lot of trauma to face. But, Ace thinks, by his side, it won’t be so bad. Guzma looks at him when he feels someone staring, and grins, leaning in to steal a kiss. Ace smiles around it, chases him when he tries to pull off for just one more. All is not perfect. But, he thinks, it’s okay for now. He doesn’t need to ask for more. They will get there in time. 

 

By Guzma’s side, he may finally find freedom, yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. The end. If you made it this far, thank you, thank you, thank you. It means more to me than I can ever express. I have never written something so long, so elaborate, or facing as many themes as this fic. I'm left with a sense of pride, no matter the public response. hopefully you enjoyed the ride. 
> 
> find me on: fightfortheusers.tumblr.com or twitter.com/voltageinside to tell me how bad i suck. (i do trades!)
> 
> please leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed it.


	17. Official Ace art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> get the look

 

there he is;; in all his glory ft. his pre-alola/pre-alan hair and being a shit w his bf

 

~~sorry lmao im not an artist im a writer let me be~~

 

reblog/like it [here](http://fightfortheusers.tumblr.com/post/154100200869/skull-admin-ace-ft-pre-alolaalan-haircut-and)


	18. Art - Bug Bois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> guzma takes his bf to a nearby field/forest he likes because there's lots of bugs and out crawls a bug he's never seen here before  
> suddenly there's a little swarm of joltiks crawling all over ace 
> 
> they're attracted to him because he's got a bit of a charge from spending so much time around jolteon - and maybe they can detect jolteon in his ball too
> 
> cover his bf in bugs and guzma's a happy man

 

post on tumblr located [here](http://fightfortheusers.tumblr.com/post/154151159934/guzma-is-pleasantly-surprised-to-find-ace-is-a).


	19. GIFT ART!!!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HIDDENBLOCKCLUBTRASH.TUMBLR.COM IS THE BEST IN THE WORLD AND DREW ART FOR THEM AND I LOVE HIM BLESS IM CRYING ONE MILLLION TEARS
> 
> ACE LOOKS SO GROWN THIS IS LITERALLY HOW HE'S SUPPOSED TO LOOK

  
GO REBLOG/LIKE/SHOW HIM LOVE [HERE](http://hiddenblockclubtrash.tumblr.com/post/154153210230)

**Author's Note:**

> if you actually made it this far, thank you. i appreciate you. you can find me at fightfortheusers.tumblr.com or twitter.com/voltageinside to tell me i'm absolute garbage
> 
> i'm not really looking for constructive criticism; this was an exercise in themes i've never faced before as a writer. most of this was written in bouts of sleeplessness until six in the morning, when i would blearily stare at the window and realize the sun was coming up.


End file.
